Within the Walls of Hogwarts
by Anguis Intrepidus
Summary: Several American kids go off to Hogwarts in Harry's first year. Chaos ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**Meet Your Dreams**

**Chapter 1**

Emma lay on her bed, facing the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks. That was the fifth vase she had broken that week, and it hadn't even been her fault. Well, not _really_ her fault. At least, she didn't think it was. She hadn't even touched it, and the thing just broke.

It shouldn't have really mattered though, she thought. The thing was ugly as hell anyway, and Mom was always talking about getting rid of it. If it _was_ Emma's fault – and she didn't think it was – Mom really should have been happy that it had come apart and was irreparable. But she wasn't. Whether or not Emma had intended to break the vase was quite beside the point; the fact remained, she had broken it – apparently – and she needed to learn control over her clumsiness. She needed to learn that breaking things was bad.

Well, duh, she already knew that; she didn't need another lesson in that department.

In any case, her grandfather had been furious, so Mom was furious, and Emma had been given a lecture on how her "lack of self-control was a sin against God."

Emma had had to force herself to listen with an empty expression on her face, while inside she was rolling her eyes and arguing, thinking that if God was really _that_ concerned about the damn vase, He probably would have protected it a little bit better.

After Grandpa was done yelling at her, Mom had to yell (naturally), and then she gave Emma a nice spanking, and sent her upstairs to think about what she had done.

The spankings hurt, of course, and Emma was crying, although probably not so much out of pain, as she was indignation.

It really hadn't been her fault. She couldn't explain how it happened, it just did. She hadn't even _touched_ the vase. All she had done was stretch out her hand toward it, and then it broke. Actually, Emma thought as she strained her memory, it had appeared to lift itself off the counter a few inches, and then, when Emma had recoiled in surprise, it had fallen and smashed. So really, something else had broken the vase. Of course, she couldn't say this to her grandfather, or mother, and she wasn't entirely sure if it would be safe to tell her dad, because he would probably tell Mom, and then Emma would be in a load of trouble. No, no one would believe that it wasn't her. She would have to keep it to herself and just be more careful. She would have to steer clear of breakables, and she would most definitely have to work on sharpening her reflexes, and catch things if they began to float.

She took a deep shuddering breath, and rolled over to stare at the ceiling. It was actually much more entertaining than the wall; it was a popcorn ceiling, and, if she used her imagination, she could sometimes find the flakes arranged in certain ways that created pictures. Emma employed her imagination that afternoon, and later that evening after she had been sent back upstairs straight after dinner.

As she fell asleep that night, Emma was surprised to find herself wishing, dreaming, _praying_ that there was some place in the world where she could make mistakes like the ones she made today, and she would not be punished. Little did she know that things were already being set in motion.

Three days later, just as the girls were all getting ready to clean up after lunch, the doorbell rang. Everybody stopped what they were doing, and looked towards the door curiously. They hadn't seen anybody come up the drive-way, and they hadn't seen them walk across the porch. Who could possibly be ringing their doorbell _now_? Who was ringing the doorbell, period?

Beth, who was standing closest to the door, opened it, a confused expression plastered across her face.

Every mouth in the room dropped open at the sight of the old man who was standing outside.

He wore the most outrageously colored period clothes a person could possibly imagine. He had a very kind face, most of which was hidden by a very long, very white beard, which was tucked into his belt. He had a very long, crooked nose, on which was perched a pair of half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes were twinkling furiously, and, Emma noticed when she glanced down, he wore a very nicely polished pair of high-heeled, buckled boots.

"Hello?" said Beth, although it was more of a question, than an actual greeting.

The old man smiled. "Hello to you, madam. May I come in?"

Of course, they couldn't really refuse him, but, just to give it a ditch effort, Emma's grandfather, known by everyone else as, 'Papa', said:

"Are you selling something?"

The old man, who was probably older than Papa (which was a considerable age), shook his head.

"No," he replied kindly. "This is a matter of business."

"Well, come on in," said Papa, feigning kindness. Emma knew that he was probably going to try to bully the man into something, though just what it would be, she couldn't be sure.

The stranger smiled, and stepped through the door.

Emma knew she should probably shut her mouth, but she somehow couldn't bring herself to do it. This man was like something she had seen in a movie. Something out of King Arthur, or 'A Knight's Tale'; he definitely wasn't someone she had ever seen while shopping at Meijer.

"Let's go to the study and talk," said Papa, getting up from his chair and moving towards the suggested location.

"Actually," the stranger interrupted, "because this matter concerns that of your granddaughter, perhaps we should adjourn to the living room with her, so as to discuss the matters at hand.

Papa just stared at him for a second. It was obvious to Emma that this man was going to be difficult to bully, and it appeared that Papa was thinking the exact same thing, because he nodded and gestured for the strangely dressed man to follow him.

Emma wondered whether or not she should follow, or if she should simply help clear the table. She decided that it would be best if she didn't assume that the stranger was talking about her, and she gathered up a few plates from the table and began to carry them to the kitchen. Even if she wasn't involved in the discussion, which Emma thought was likely, as all mostly everyone wanted to talk about was her sister, she could still hear what they were talking about, or she could watch the strange man carefully as she worked, as the kitchen had a doorway that led to the living room, as well as one that led to the dining room. If the stranger and her grandfather were talking about her sister, maybe they would be making plans for her adoption, and Emma would finally be rid of her. It was too much to hope for, and it wasn't exactly something that would earn her Christian Brownie points, but Emma couldn't help it.

"Emma."

She stopped in her tracks. The old man and Papa were both looking at her.

"Come on."

Papa was struggling not to yell at her, she could see it. Was it for being disobedient, or for not paying attention? Emma couldn't decide. All she knew was that she would be in deep crap if she didn't move.

She approached them cautiously, and sank down on the footstool that was nearest to as far from them as she could get without being disrespectful. Her grandfather was seated at the end of one sofa, and the stranger at the end of another. They were far enough apart to be discussing business, but they were also close enough for it to be private.

The old man smiled at her kindly, and Emma couldn't help but feel a little bit more at ease.

"How are you, Emma?" he asked.

She hesitated, and then said, "I'm good, thanks. How are you?"

The old man smiled at her politeness. "I am very well, I thank you," he said. "I would like to introduce myself, if you don't mind." He stretched out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

Emma thought his name was a little bit odd, but she didn't dare say so. She shook his hand. Papa looked a little bit put out that the man didn't shake his hand first, and Emma scented the danger. Apparently Albus Dumbledore did too, because when he let go of Emma's hand, he offered to shake hands with Papa. To be polite, Papa didn't decline, but Emma was of the opinion that if he could have offended the man without losing favor, he would have.

"What can we do for you, Mr. Dumbledore?" asked Papa.

"It has come to my attention," said Dumbledore, "that your granddaughter has been experiencing some very strange things lately. Floating vases, lit candles," he gazed at Papa over the rims of his half-moon spectacles, "appearing on the roofs of certain buildings?"

Papa nodded. "It's all been a little bit strange, and we're worried that she might be under the attack of the demonic."

Emma felt herself growing red, and she was ready to hang her head in shame. If they were here to talk about what she was doing wrong, she was in for an ass-chewing. So she was greatly surprised when Dumbledore laughed, and said, "No, she is not."

Emma and Papa both did a double-take.

"What?" they said in unison.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Papa, somewhat angrily. "She is under an attack of the devil, and we've been praying for her for the past few years!"

Dumbledore's blue eyes didn't stop twinkling. "Actually, it is not, as you put it, an attack of the devil at all. Rather, it is something in her genes."

Emma looked down. Her pants? That's what was doing this? Her pants? She looked back up at Dumbledore, thoroughly confused.

He laughed. "Not the jeans you wear, Emma," he said kindly, "but rather the genes that make up your DNA."

Emma felt her eyes widen in understanding. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The twinkle in Albus Dumbledore's eyes brightened even more. "There is something called a genetic mutation in some children, which leads to them being able to do things that other children can't. You've done these sorts of things, haven't you, Emma?"

Emma thought hard. Yes, she had. She'd done lots of things she shouldn't have done, and nobody else could do. She'd stopped the clocks at bed time; she'd made her bed without touching it. That meant that she _was_ the one who had broken the vase the other day. She looked up at Dumbledore.

"What does it mean, if I can do these things?" she asked. Was she some sort of witch or something?

Dumbledore sighed, and the twinkled disappeared. "I'm afraid you're not going to like the answer," he said heavily. He sounded sorrier at the fact that they wouldn't like the answer, not about what the answer was indeed.

Papa turned a little bit redder. "What does it mean?" he demanded.

"It means that Emma is a witch," said Dumbledore.

She had been right?

Papa looked at Emma, his face furious. Emma paled to death under his glare, and shot off the footstool faster than a gunshot.

"No, I'm not," she said. They were all going to hate her now. What would her mother do? What sort of disappointed look would her father give her? "I'm not a witch," she insisted. "I'm only ten years old! I've never done magic, I've never said a spell, I've never turned anything into a toad, or any of that. I'm not a witch! I'm not!"

It didn't appear that Papa was going to listen.

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's all right, my dear," he said kindly. "You see, I'm a wizard."

Emma's mouth opened in shock, and Papa turned to glare at Dumbledore.

"You can't be," said Emma.

"Why not?" asked Dumbledore. "Because I haven't turned you into a toad? Or is it, perhaps, because I seem to be too kind?"

Emma couldn't come up with an answer to that, so Dumbledore pulled out a thin wooden stick that Emma immediately knew was a wand.

"Let me show you," he said.

He waved the wand, and the footstool Emma had been sitting on a moment ago turned into a yapping, panting, completely adorable Labrador puppy.

"You see?" Dumbledore said, picking up the puppy. "I am a wizard, just as much as you are a witch."

Emma stared at him. "But I didn't do anything!" she said.

Dumbledore smiled again. "You were born a witch, Miss Wilkes. You cannot escape it, even if you pretend that it is not there."

Emma looked at Papa, her eyes pleading with him. Surely he understood that she didn't plan to be witch at all, that she didn't mean to be something so evil.

Papa looked at Dumbledore. "What can we do about this?" he asked. "How do we fix it?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Fix it? My dear fellow, whatever do you mean?"

Papa's glare intensified. "How do we fix what's wrong with her?"

Dumbledore now looked confused. "There is nothing wrong with her."

"You said it yourself: she's a witch. How do we fix it? How do we make it go away?"

There was a pause and then Dumbledore said, "You can't make it go away. Just as you cannot make yourself any less a man than you already are, you cannot make the fact that she is a witch go away. It is a part of who she is." He cocked his head to the side. "You might be inclined to say that it is the way God made her." He looked very sad at telling them all this, but Emma was more disposed to think that it was because Papa wanted to make the 'problem' go away, not because there was nothing they could do.

"There has to be some way to make her normal," said somebody from the kitchen, and Emma turned to see Grandma standing there a cup of coffee in her hands.

For the first time in the past few minutes, Emma noticed that everybody was standing around the kitchen looking utterly shocked and perplexed, but also frightened. They kept stealing glances at her; some of their eyes were filled with hate, but most were full of pity and sadness.

Emma looked back to see Dumbledore shaking his head.

"She is as normal as she will ever be," he said. "As she gets older, however, the strength of her magic will increase to sevenfold what it is now, and, if I may say so, she has a much stronger magical core than most adult witches and wizards." It was hard to tell if this was good or bad, so Dumbledore continued. "I represent a school which teaches young witches and wizards how to, not only use magic, but to control it as well."

"And the name of this school?" asked Papa.

"Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "If Emma goes to school, she will be able to attend classes for seven years, thus, by the end of her schooling, being able to control and work very complex bits of magic, and, also, some very simple bits of magic, such as cleansing spells, and there are even a few cooking enchantments, if I am correct, which, I must say, I usually am."

Emma decided that she liked Albus Dumbledore. She liked him a lot.

Papa looked rather put out. "Where is this school?" he asked.

Emma found herself wondering why her parents weren't the ones asking these questions. Sure, her grandfather was head of their church over all, but her parents were in charge of her, right? Well, apparently not.

Dumbledore seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his look got rather shrewd, and he said, "It is near the coast of Scotland."

There was a small uproar from everybody, which Grandma immediately shushed as the veins in Papa's head and neck began to bulge.

"You expect us to be able to pay for her to go to Scotland for seven years?" he raged.

Dumbledore laughed. "Oh no, not at all. In fact, it isn't a cost to you in any sense other than the sacrifice of her company, sending her to Hogwarts. I can arrange for her to take magical transportation each year, and the only thing you really need pay for are the text books and robes she will be required to have for school. It's really quite simple."

Papa seemed to calm down. "Well, we can't let her go. It's demonic, and she's done enough damage already. We don't need her manipulating us with what she thinks she can do."

That did it for Emma.

She didn't ask for this to happen to her, and her grandfather was pretending it was all her fault and that God was going to send her to Hell because she was born a witch. He hadn't said it out loud, but it was sort of an unwritten rule that anyone who didn't agree with Papa, or wasn't what he pegged as 'normal' was automatically evil beyond all comprehension. What exactly was she supposed to do? If there was nothing they could do about it, why did he insist on isolating her and changing every part of who she was? Emma didn't know much about DNA, but she was pretty sure that once it was there, it was there, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. She couldn't help that she was different, and she couldn't help that everything she touched was destroyed. Besides, she liked the thought of going to Scotland. That sounded like loads of fun; she would be learning and having adventures; if she practiced hard enough, maybe some day she would be able to turn a footstool into the Labrador puppy that was now sitting very obediently at Dumbledore's feet; she would be meeting different people, living a different life, and (what she found to be very important) she wouldn't be bored out of her skull every day of her life. It would be new and exciting, and she liked the thought of that. Besides, who was to say that God wasn't behind it all?

"Iwanttogo," she blurted.

Everybody turned to look at her, and her face turned red.

"I'm sorry, dear," said Dumbledore kindly. "Could you repeat that, please?"

Emma hesitated and took a deep breath. "I want to go," she repeated, her voice firm.

"Emma," said Papa, his voice sharp, "we did not say you could."

"Yes, I know you didn't say I could," she retorted, "but I want to." Papa's face turned brick red, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to rail on her, but Emma beat him to the punch. "Who are you to dictate to me what I can and cannot learn? Who are you to decide that this 'condition' is not something that serves a greater purpose? I want to go to school. I want to learn what I can learn, and you are not going to stop me."

"Are you being rebellious?" asked Grandma, who had moved to the rocking chair by the kitchen door.

Emma thought. "You know," she said, "I think so." She paused. "And I like how it feels to make my own choices. It feels really good. It makes me feel free." She looked up at Dumbledore. "When does school start?"

"On September the first," he said kindly.

Emma counted in her head: that was a month and two days; plenty of time for her to be beaten up one side and down the other.

"Can I come now?" she asked. If she was doing this rebellion thing, she might as well go for it full stop.

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes intensified until it looked as though his blue eyes were made of nothing but stars.

"Of course you may come today," he said. "If you gather your belongings, we may leave at once."

Emma was suddenly up off the floor, and tearing up to her room, not waiting to hear the protests of Papa, Grandma, and whoever else was saying it wasn't right, or it wasn't holy, or God wouldn't be pleased, or whatever the hell else there was to say. She was going to Hogwarts, and these assholes weren't stopping her. Once in her room, she dived under her bed and pulled out the suitcase that lay waiting beneath it. She ripped open a drawer on her dresser and dumped a few pairs of pants into the suitcase, and then slammed the drawer closed and lunged toward the closet. She pulled several of her shirts out and threw them into the bag, before turning back to the dresser and pulling out some underwear from another drawer. As soon as she had dumped that into her bag, she skidded across the tiles in the bathroom, retrieving her toothbrush and toothpaste and deodorant and a hairbrush, and threw that into the bag as well. She was just about to zip it up, when her eyes fell on the bookshelf near the door.

Emma hesitated. She loved books. It was all she had as far as friends went. She reached up and pulled her favorite series off the shelf, the Chronicles of Narnia, and placed them, very reverently, into the suitcase along with her clothes. That was all. And then she zipped up the bag without any more hesitation, and tore out the door and ran downstairs.

Peeking into the living room, Emma saw Dumbledore sitting quite happily, although he did not speak to her grandparents. Papa still looked furious, and Grandma looked like she didn't have any idea what was going on. Her mom was sitting in one of the chairs, and her dad was standing there with his arms folded, looking sort of bemused, but completely accepting of everything that was going on. No doubt they would get into trouble later for not stopping her sooner, but Emma found that she didn't really care. She was going off to live a life, and there was nothing any of them could do about it. Emma hesitated and then stepped into the living room again.

"I got everything," she said, heaving the bag onto her shoulder to emphasize her point.

Dumbledore smiled broadly and stood. "Off we go then," he said kindly. "If you will take my hand, Miss Wilkes?"

Emma hesitated, and then went to him, wrapping her fingers around his own. She looked at every one else all of them standing in the kitchen, mouths hanging open at the sight of the little girl making her own huge choices.

"Good bye, everyone," she said.

She waved to her parents; her mother refused to look at her directly, but Dad forced a smile, and came forward, wrapping her in a hug that was so tight Emma didn't know if she could breathe. It was that safety hug; it made her feel safe, and it made her feel like nothing on earth could stop her from achieving her goals; it was the only thing she would miss about this place she was leaving. Emma reached up and kissed his rough, whiskery cheek, and then tightened her hold on Dumbledore's hand as Dad stepped back.

Suddenly she felt as though she were being squeezed through a particularly nasty rubber tube that was growing tighter and tighter by the second. And then it suddenly stopped.

"What was that?" she asked, trying to breathe.

"It's called 'Apparating'," said Dumbledore, "and you managed it quite successfully, for being ten years old. Most people vomit the first time."

"Why ever would they do that?" Emma answered, focusing on keeping her lunch in her stomach.

Opening her eyes didn't make her feel much better, but she didn't care. She was far away from home, and it felt good to be free from all the restraint. All the scraping, and walking on eggshells; constantly being contrite because she was supposed to be some horrible person. She determined never to let anyone ever again tell her how to feel about anything. She was her own girl now, and she was going to be the best girl she could be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Emma looked up at Dumbledore, about to ask where they were. She didn't get much farther than forming the first syllable with her lips, when her eyes bugged and she felt the urge to look around. The place to which Dumbledore had brought her was very similar to the old inns and taverns she had seen in the movies. She immediately wished she had another set of eyes. All these people were dressed in the same period clothes as Dumbledore, except some of them were much more conservative in their color. They were all sitting about drinking out of old looking goblets, talking and laughing together about this and that.

"Dumbledore!" somebody shouted, and when Emma saw him, she immediately guessed him to be the inn-keeper. "What'll you be having?"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Nothing for me, Tom, I thank you." He patted Emma's shoulder. "I'm here to help Miss Emma here through Diagon Alley."

The inn-keeper's brow furrowed when he saw Emma. "Is she Muggleborn, Dumbledore?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "She is. As is your sister-in-law, am I correct, Tom?"

Tom nodded. "Aye. Bloody brilliant, too! Right, then, good luck with the school, Dumbledore." He nodded at Emma, who smiled shyly back.

Dumbledore shook hands with several people as he led Emma out the back of the inn.

"You'll find that Diagon Alley is quite a busy street, Miss Wilkes," said Dumbledore, tapping his wand on the brick wall. "You had best stay close."

Emma nodded, and shifted her bag on her shoulder. She'd stay as close as she possibly could, and she wouldn't get lost.

She opened her mouth, about to ask a question, when the brick wall began to shift.

Emma watched, completely dumbfounded as the wall changed into a magical gateway that led them to—

"Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore.

Emma wasn't sure she wanted to move from where she was standing. It was, in a chaotic sort of way, beautiful, what she was seeing. There were people everywhere, and there was every sort of shape, color, smell, and sound imaginable.

"Wow," she breathed. "That's amazing."

Dumbledore chuckled, and Emma turned her head when she heard the sound of crinkling paper.

"I believe you'll find a list of everything you need in this envelope," he said.

Emma took it and very carefully tore open the seal. There was a letter inside, explaining her acceptance to Hogwarts. She ignored this, and pulled the out the second sheet of paper. It read:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY **_

_**UNIFORM **_

_**First-year students will require: **_

_**1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) **_

_**2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear **_

_**3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) **_

_**4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings) **_

_**Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags **_

_**COURSE BOOKS **_

_**All students should have a copy of each of the following: **_

_**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk **_

_**A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot **_

_**Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling **_

_**A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch **_

_**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore **_

_**Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger **_

_**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander **_

_**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble **_

_**OTHER EQUIPMENT **_

_**1 wand **_

_**1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) **_

_**1 set of glass or crystal phials **_

_**1 telescope set **_

_**1 brass scales **_

_**Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad **_

_**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS **_

Emma couldn't help but feel slightly gloomy at the last sentence. Her parents weren't going to need any reminders about broomsticks.

As suddenly as the cloud descended on her shoulders, it disappeared, only to be replaced by another. She lifted her gaze from the parchment, and up at the very tall Albus Dumbledore.

"I don't have any money to pay for any of it, sir," she said.

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course you do," he said. "Come along; I'll show you."

And he took her hand and they began walking down the middle of Diagon Alley.

Even though she was holding his hand, Emma couldn't help but stick as close to Dumbledore as possible. He radiated energy and protection, and Emma, who had never been away from home in her entire life, was drawn by that protection and safety, by the power he radiated.

"You see," said Dumbledore, pointing ahead. "You see that bank? That's where all your money is. Gringott's is perhaps the best place on earth to keep one's treasures safe, second only to Hogwarts. May I suggest that you never in your life attempt to rob it? The goblins that run it are as clever as you or I, and they won't take kindly to breeching of their security."

Emma nodded. It sounded frightening enough that the bank was run by goblins, but the actual thought of stealing made her stomach churn even more. She wasn't a thief, and she wasn't stupid: people who stole things almost always got caught. She wasn't keen on spending the rest of her life in prison.

As they marched through the doors, Emma's mouth dropped to the floor. There were tiny little men, all shorter than she, with oddly distorted ears, faces, and hands, running about, giving each other instructions, weighing gems, counting gold pieces, and checking figures. It was wonderful to see it, and Emma felt as though she could just stand there and stare at marvel before her eyes forever. As it was, she nearly tripped over her feet when Dumbledore kept moving and she was forced trot by his side.

Albus Dumbledore marched straight up to desk at the farthest end of the room, and said, "Good day."

The goblin, which had had his nose pressed to a parchment, jumped in surprise. He gave Dumbledore a ruffled look, and replied, "It was until you scared the bedangles out of me, Dumbledore." He huffed and put down his quill pen. "What can I do for you?"

Dumbledore smiled and presented the goblin with a tiny gold key. "I believe Miss Emma Wilkes would like to make a withdrawal from her account."

The goblin leaned over his desk, and grinned toothily at Emma, who buried part of her face into Dumbledore's robes.

"Ah, yes," he said. "I was wondering when she would come to visit." It caught Emma's attention and she unwrapped herself from Dumbledore's robes and looked at the goblin keenly.

"Has her vault been filling up?" asked Dumbledore.

"Like mad," said the goblin, gesturing to another goblin standing behind a bizarre looking set of doors. "She's gotten about a thousand Galleons a day, plus the same number in Knuts in Sickles, and that's not mentioning the extra hundred-fifty she gets every weekend. She'll be as well to do as any pureblood by the end of her schooling."

Emma looked up at Dumbledore, thoroughly confused. A galleon was a Spanish ship, and she knew that a sickle was something to harvest wheat, and a nut was something her dad used to hold on the washers when he was fixing engines, but how was she supposed to pay for everything with a ship, a knife, and small piece of metal? It didn't make sense!

'Very strange, these people,' she thought. Whatever, she'd go with it.

By the time all this had got through her head, the goblin at the desk had commanded the goblin by the doors to take Emma and Dumbledore to the proper vault so they could withdraw the needed amount. Emma didn't notice getting into the cart, as she was still mulling over the whole ordeal of paying with galleons and sickles. She did notice, however, when the cart took off at full speed.

Without really thinking about it, Emma let out thrilled laugh. The wind created by the cart whipped her hair about, and stung her eyes, but it tasted earthy and delicious. Driven by curiosity, Emma leaned over the side of the cart, trying to see the bottom. Dumbledore pulled her back in.

"You can look at the bottom of the bank when we reach your vault," he said, "but don't lean out over the sides of the cart. People have died because they fell out of the cart."

Emma's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and she squared her shoulders, determined to enjoy the wind and, as Dumbledore said, find the bottom of the bank another time.

In no time at all, they stopped in front of a very old looking vault with a very heavy looking door. Emma looked up and saw three numbers etched in the stone above the door.

"Vault five-hundred, fifty-five," said the goblin importantly.

Dumbledore handed him the key, and he opened it; Emma wasn't quite watching, as she was taking Dumbledore up on his advice, and peering over the edge of the tunnels, trying to find the bottom of the bank. She nearly started when somebody pulled her away by her arm. She looked up to see Dumbledore gazing at her knowingly above the rims of his half-moon spectacles.

"Curiosity isn't a sin, Emma," he said kindly, "but you should exercise caution."

Emma nodded, and very nearly dropped her head. At the last second, however, she remembered something she'd read in a book about only cowards hanging their heads in shame, and pulled her head up; it did more to memorize the lesson and move on, than to shuffle one's feet and apologize.

Dumbledore smiled, and handed her a small silk bag. "Fill it up," he said, gesturing to the vault.

For the second time that day, Emma's mouth hit the floor. The room was piled high with gold and silver and bronze coins. She stepped across the threshold, and stood in the room, drinking every bit of it in as much as she could. She'd never seen so much money in her life; she'd have to be careful, and take just what she needed; only the occasional splurge would be appropriate. She looked back at Dumbledore.

"How much do you think I will need?" she asked.

The old man smiled. "If I were you," he said, "I'd fill it half-way with Galleons, and the rest of the way with Sickles and Knuts." He stepped through. "Now, then, the gold pieces are called Galleons, and they're worth seventeen Sickles. The Sickles are silver, and they're worth twenty-nine Knuts."

"The Knuts are bronze," guessed Emma. 

Dumbledore smiled. "You've got it," he said.

Emma blushed. It wasn't often that somebody complimented her, and she wasn't sure how to take it. She ducked her head under the pretence of bending over and picking up some Galleons off the floor. They were heavier than she'd expected, and she rolled them over in her hand, examining them closely. Dumbledore didn't rush her, and she wasn't sure how she'd thank him for it. She was suddenly seized with another question.

"Where'd all this come from?"

Dumbledore grinned. "The businesses that have been placed in your parents names generate a healthy income, the magical equivalent of which is placed here in the Gringott's bank."

Emma looked down at the piles of gold, silver, and bronze. "That's a lot of money," she said, and thoughtfully furrowed her brow. "That's a _lot_ of money."

Dumbledore nodded, but didn't speak.

Emma shrugged and picked up the coins off the floor, filling the bag with what she could. As soon as it was done, she nodded to Dumbledore, and he motioned her back into the cart. Emma remembered what he had said about exercising caution, and tried to peer far enough ahead to get a good view of the cart without actually putting her head over the side, leaning out just a fraction of an inch. An unexpected, rather angry roar made her jump in her seat. Emma turned and saw a bolt of fire issue from an alcove, and her eyes widened. She turned back around and hung on to her seat. After a moment, she looked up at Dumbledore. He appeared not to have noticed the roar, so she pretended she hadn't heard it either.

When they reached the top, Dumbledore looked up at the sky.

"It's rather late," he said.

Emma copied him, and looked up. She was surprised to see that the sun was beginning to dip behind some of the buildings along the alley. Well, of course; it made sense. They way everybody had been speaking, they were probably in England, which meant that they were on a different time schedule than they had been back in Michigan. That actually made quite a bit of sense. It would have been odd if they were worlds apart, but operating in the same time frame.

Dumbledore took her hand and they made their way back up Diagon Alley, and back into the inn out of which they had come. As they walked, Dumbledore told her that there was a room all set up, all ready for her arrival, and that she would be sharing it with another young witch from America, who had turned ten earlier that year, in April.

"She's a year younger than we normally start, but she's very bright, as are the other two children who came along."

"Aren't I a year early then?" asked Emma.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not at all," he replied. "It is not possible, in my humble opinion, to start learning too early."

Emma nodded. "Will they be there? At the inn?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Oh, yes. I had to fetch them before you, you see. I was worried that your family might be the more difficult to persuade."

"If I had known you were coming, that would have made two of us," said Emma, looking about, trying to get a last glimpse of Diagon Alley before she and Dumbledore passed through the archway.

Dumbledore laughed in response, ushering her through the magical gateway, and back into the inn.

"We will start to shop for your books tomorrow. For now, you must try to catch up on your jetlag. The others will not be so accommodating of your state, as they arrived a few days ago." He pointed to a door just a little ways away. "May I suggest the Minister's study? Its books may be a bit beyond your level of reading, but there is plenty of parchment to satisfy any budding writer." His eyes twinkled knowingly, and Emma blushed again.

It hadn't taken much, but Emma had grown to like this man, and like him a lot. He was the ideal grandfather, in that he was so kind, and he seemed to be the type to enjoy a laugh. I had this nagging feeling at the back of my mind though, that kind people more often than not got their way because they were so kind. . . . .and that was when I started thinking hard about a lot of things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Emma fell asleep in the Minister's study at about four 'o' clock the next morning. She had been exhausted by the excitement surrounding her departure from the family "Firm", and had subsequently written up to three chapters of a new book which she knew she would probably never finish, so why bother? She was awakened a few hours later by a gentle shake from Dumbledore, who informed her they were going out to buy their school things now, and she ought to come along.

It took a few seconds for the information to register in her brain, but once it did, Emma shot up from the chair so suddenly it tipped over, and the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes intensified.

A short while later, Emma found herself standing out back of the Leaky Cauldron, staring interestedly at the other three children following Dumbledore out the back.

The one boy was just a little bit taller than she, with short, blonde, curly hair that stuck to his head in an interesting and slightly frightening fashion. He wasn't smiling, which made him look rather angry and put out that he was there. His nose curved just a little at the end, and he had blue eyes which she guessed would sparkle if he was in a good mood.

The first girl was shorter than Emma, and she had long brown hair, friendly brown eyes, a ready smile, and her face was splashed with freckles. Her smile reached her eyes, and she gave Emma a cheery, "Hello," before turning to admit the Dumbledore and the other girl.

The last girl was about Emma's height, and she had long hair that fell down her back in a mass of tight curls, giving it the distinct appearance of a lion's mane. It wasn't un-pretty, Emma thought. It actually reminded her of her brother, Aaron's hair. She, too, had a friendly smile and while her eyes were hazel, they twinkled like Dumbledore's.

Speaking of Dumbledore. . . .

"Miss Wilkes, may I introduce you to your soon-to-be school mates?" He gestured to each of them as he said their names. "Marie O'Riley, Katie Dubuah, and Brian Longstride." He gestured to Emma. "Emma Wilkes."

They all nodded at her, and Marie offered her another cheery, "Hi," before waiting for Dumbledore to tap the bricks and the wall to rearrange itself so they could all pass through.

An hour or so later all four of them had collected their books and robes, and Emma was finding it difficult to walk through Diagon Alley and read her _Magical Draughts and Potions_ textbook at the same time. Brian couldn't understand its allure, but he didn't bother her much, and she appreciated it. As they were passing the Magical Menagerie, Dumbledore stopped them.

"You are allowed to bring an animal-friend to school," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Anyone up for a cat? Or perhaps a Puffskein?"

Emma desperately wanted to know what a Puffskein was, and, by the look of it, so did Marie and Katie. Brian could have cared less; she could tell by the way he shrugged his shoulders.

Dumbledore herded them into the shop, where they were met by a woman wearing heavy, black spectacles. While she and Dumbledore chatted amiably, Emma and Katie both found themselves drawn to a box of very tiny kittens. The little fur balls were quite possibly the most adorable creatures Emma had ever laid eyes on, and she was pleased to see that one kitten was only three Galleons. Looking at them all, she eventually decided that she wanted to hold the small orange and black striped one; it looked like a very tiny, comically benign tiger cub.

As she lifted it from the box, the kitten's claws extended and hooked into the flesh of her hand. Emma didn't mind; she had experienced more painful things: Apparition, for example. Cuddling the kitten to her considerably flat chest, Emma felt the vibrations of purring running up and down her arms. She grinned. It was a rather stupid grin; probably made her look extremely idiotic, but she couldn't help it.

"You've found something you like, I take it," said the woman over in the corner.

It took Emma a moment to realize that the woman was speaking to her, and she nodded, stroking the kitten's fur again. The woman smiled.

"I'll tell you," she said. "The price is three Galleons, but I'll let you have that one for one Galleon and seven Sickles if you promise to take good care of him."

Emma looked down at the small bundle happily curled up in her body heat. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was how to spot a deal. Of course, with an animal this young there was no way of knowing if it was a decent buy or not, but she decided she'd go with it. Looking back up at the shopkeeper, she nodded, and dug in her pocket for the money necessary to take the little orange and black ball of fur with her.

Once the others had left the shop with her, Katie and Marie were drawn like magnets to the miniscule pet which was snuggling deeper into Emma's shirt for warmth.

"It's so cute," cooed Marie. 

"What are you going to name it?" asked Katie. "Please don't say 'Tiger'; everybody does that."

Emma wrinkled her nose. "Far too cliché," she replied. "I'm thinking something along the lines of a Roman emperor." She had been reading about those lately, and decided that just any old name for her cat was absolutely not going to do. "So many names available," sighed. "Well, there's Augustus, but he doesn't look like an Augustus." Marie wrinkled her nose as well, and Emma could tell it was in agreement. "And then there's Nero, but Nero was evil, so I'm not going to call him that. I suppose Vespasian would work," she continued thoughtfully as they ambled down the street, stopping at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Brian disappeared inside with a roll of his eyes, and Dumbledore ushered the three girls in, somehow seeming interested in everything Emma was saying.

"And then there's Caligula, but he was crazy and made his horse the high priest, and I really don't want my cat to go crazy." Marie and Katie nodded in assent. "There was Domitian, but he doesn't look like a Domitian, and besides, he was arrogant and egotistical, and you can't come up with a nick name for 'Domitian'." Brian poked his head around the corner, looking rather nonplussed at this last part of her statement, but he shook his head and turned back round, continuing to look about for an owl. Emma thought for a moment, and then said slowly. "There was also Septimius Severus; he was good." She looked back down at the kitten, which was now purring quite contentedly into her shirt. "But this one doesn't look like a Septimius; besides, 'Septimius' reminds me of 'September', and I've never liked September. It's one of my least favorite months. I like 'Severus' though. That's a good, strong name, and Septimius Severus was more commonly known as 'Severus'. And he was a good emperor." She looked up at Dumbledore, surprised that the old man's eyes were twinkling like mad. "That'll be his name: Severus. And if I need to, I can call him 'Sev'. What do you think?"

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. "I think it's a marvelous idea."

Brian eventually found a very beautiful tawny owl, which he promptly named Emma. Several eyebrows were raised, which Brian returned with a rather defiant look, claiming that it was his owl, he could call it what he chose.

Their next stop Ollivander's, the wand shop, and Emma was forced to admit that she relished the thought of holding what (if Dumbledore's wand was anything to go by) would be a slim piece of wood without the toy star on top. If Ollivander had one of those, it was likely she would go without one, simply for the sake of her pride.

The small shop was crowded with the five of the in it, but it was very cozy and smelled (as cliché as it sounded) like magic saturated the air on an incessant basis.

"Mr. Ollivander?" called Dumbledore to the back of the shop. In a few moments they were all greeted by the sight of a very old wizard coming toward them. He had moonlike eyes, and the way he looked at them all made Emma very uncomfortable. When he saw Marie and Katie, his eyes lit up.

"Ah, Dumbledore," he said. "You've brought me some talented youths." He nodded to Marie. "I sold your mother her wand, Miss O'Riley: chestnut and phoenix feather. Ideal for Transfiguration and healing spells. Quite whippy, it was." His eyes then focused on Katie. "Your father's wand was particular, Miss Dubuah. Walnut and dragon heartstring; excellent for Defense Against the Dark Arts." Katie smiled, and Ollivander turned his attentions to Brian. "A Muggleborn?" he said, his eyebrows arching. "We'll sort you out; and you as well," he said, looking straight at Emma. "I have a feeling, Dumbledore, that we can expect great things from these four."

He went straight to work with Katie, handing her several wands. "Beech with phoenix tail-feather." That wasn't the right one. "Maple with dragon heartstring." That wasn't it either, although this wand seemed slightly more receptive. Ollivander set it aside, reaching for another wand. "Walnut and phoenix feather." That wasn't it either. Ollivander seemed ecstatic. "Olive and unicorn hair." That wasn't it; it had about the same effect as its predecessors. The wand-maker paused for a moment, and seemed to think. Suddenly he bolted to the back, carrying up four more slim boxes of wands. Opening one he said, "This is a rather peculiar wand, Miss Dubuah, as are they all." He handed it to her. "Walnut, olive and maple wood, with a dragon heartstring core."

The second Katie lifted it over her head, gold sparks shot out the end. Ollivander was beaming, which was a clear indication, Emma thought, that this was the right wand for Katie.

Marie was next. Ollivander tried other wands on Marie as well. "Holly and dragon heartstring." No bueno. "Maple and phoenix feather." Nada. "Holly and unicorn hair." Nope, not that one either. "Chestnut and dragon heartstring." No good either. "Cherry and phoenix feather." This was getting rather interesting, Emma thought. Ollivander grinned, pulling out one of the three remaining wands of the crowd from which he had selected Katie's. "Chestnut, holly, and birch, with unicorn hair." Gold sparks shot out the end.

Emma looked up at Dumbledore, who looked thoughtful. 'What are the odds. . . .?' she thought. 'What are the odds?'

Ollivander gave Brian the same run through, before finally selecting a third wand from the previous pile of four. "Yew, hawthorn, and poplar with Augrey feather." Gold sparks shot out the end, and Emma noticed that Dumbledore looked somewhat concerned.

Ollivander turned to Emma, his eyes knowing. He pulled a wand off the shelf. "Holly and phoenix feather." Emma tried it, and was surprised to be relieved that it didn't work. "Maple and unicorn hair." That one wasn't any good either. "Cherry and dragon heartstring." Nothing happened. "Blackthorn and dragon heartstring." Only a slightly positive result: the window in the back shattered. Emma's eyes grew wide and she put it down with a hasty apology. "Ivy and phoenix feather." Nope. "Vinewood and unicorn hair." Nope. "Kaya and phoenix feather." Nothing. "Mahogany and dragon heartstring." Nothing.

Ollivander gave her a particularly hard look, and then reached for the last of the four wands. "Blackthorn, ivy, and kaya." He hesitated as he was about to state the core, and then said, "Basilisk skin." His eyes flicked to Dumbledore's and Emma turned to look at the older man.

The twinkle was no longer in his eye, and he was watching her with a very serious expression. Emma turned back round, and then took the wand from Ollivander. Immediately a warmth shot through her fingers, and she raised the wand above her head just a little bit. Gold sparks shot out the end, and Emma felt particularly elated. This was her wand! This was it! It was perfect!

She turned back to look at Dumbledore, seeking his approval. He nodded once, and Emma grinned up at Ollivander. She didn't understand why Basilisk skin should be so objectionable, but she had a feeling she was going to be watched.

"How long have you had those wands, Mr. Ollivander?" asked Dumbledore, his tone airy and unconcerned.

Ollivander was busy charging up the price on each wand. "My father's great-grandfather made them just before he died. I never thought I'd see them find their owners," he looked up at the four children standing in the shop, "nor all at the same time."

Severus pawed at Emma's chin, and she obediently planted a kiss on the kitten's snout. He purred in response.

Their wands bought and the rest of the school supplies collected, Dumbledore ushered them back to the Leaky Cauldron (the name of the inn in which they were staying), urging them to get as much sleep as they could, for tomorrow they would be introducing their parents to the magical world. When Emma heard this she felt as though somebody had dropped a giant ice-cube down into her chest; the cold was penetrating her insides like a knife.

Her parents were to be introduced to the magical realm? Was Dumbledore insane? Once her parents saw this they would be hell-bent on her going home! There was no way they were going to let her continue on this course no matter how badly she wanted it.

She voiced this concern to Dumbledore just before bed.

The old man smiled warmly as he took a seat. In this position his head was just a little bit below hers.

"Miss Wilkes, do you like magic?"

Emma was a little bemused by the non sequitur, but nodded.

"Would you like to study it?"

She nodded again.

"What would you be willing to give to live in the magical world?"

Emma thought long and hard. In the course of one day she had come to love this world more than the one in which she lived normally. In the course of a day she had come to realize that the adage, "all things are possible. . ." was really quite true. She could explore this world, explore her own personality, and create new things, pretty much whatever she wanted within reason. She was happy here, and she was desperate to stay happy. It was a feeling with which she was vaguely familiar, and it felt good. So what did she value above all else? What would she be willing to give to remain happy?

"Anything."

"Anything, Miss Wilkes?"

Emma thought again, and then amended: "Anything within reason, naturally."

Dumbledore smiled. "As long as you wish to live and learn in the magical realm, I can promise you an open niche in society."

How he could so easily promise this, Emma wasn't entirely sure, but at the moment, she didn't care. He had told her she could stay, and that was exactly what she intended to do.


	4. Chapter 4

_**I know it's been incredibly long since I updated this, but since nobody's really reading it that much anyway, it probably doesn't matter. If you do read this, please review, even if all you have to say is that it's pathetic; the goal here is to become a better writer, and I can't do that without feedback. So PLEASE review! I'd bribe you, but that doesn't exactly work on cyberspace. Sorry **_**:(_ Anyway. Yeah, enjoy. This is the chapter where Emma meets Draco. FUN!. . . . .a little. _**

**Chapter 4**

Emma's eyes flew open, and she immediately felt a cold, sinking feeling in her chest. Her parents would be coming today, and they were going to flip out when they saw the life she would be living. It made her want to stay in bed, curled up, unmoving.

Somebody poked her shoulder. "Is she awake, do you think?" asked Katie's voice.

"I don't know," Marie answered. "I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't. She was tossing and turning a lot last night. She's probably really worn out."

"Do you think we should wake her up?"

"I don't know," Marie replied. "She might be pretty tired."

Emma didn't move, and quickly closed her eyes again. If they thought she was asleep they might leave her alone.

"I think we should wake her up," Katie said decisively.

Dammit. "Too late for that; you already did." She didn't sound as unhappy as she felt, but they didn't need to know right now. They would know in due course. "What time is it?"

"About nine 'o' clock," said Marie. "I'm sorry we woke you up."

Emma shrugged. "I was gonna wake up at some point anyway. Better now than later."

"Dumbledore said last night that our parents would be here about nine-thirty, so you'd better hurry," she replied. "The bathroom's open, but our stuff is all over the place. You might have to move it around a little bit."

Emma shrugged. Honestly, after growing up with that many different college girls and cleaning the bathrooms of college boys, nothing in the loo could possibly scare her.

Fifteen minutes later she was dressed and ready to go, but she really didn't want to go anywhere except back to bed.

A knock sounded on the door and Dumbledore's voice carried through the hard wood. "Are you ready, ladies?"

Emma grabbed her wand off the table and wrenched the door open.

"I'm ready," she said, shoving the wand into her jeans-pocket. "Are they here yet?"

"Miss Dubuah's mother is, and Miss O'Riley's father as well. Mr. Longstride's parents are on their way, as are yours, Miss Wilkes."

Emma managed a stiff nod, but didn't answer. She was genuinely worried about this. Her parents were not going to be happy at all. Witchcraft and wizardry was against everything they'd ever hammered into her. Her father would be disappointed by her enthusiasm, her mother would probably sing a Broadway musical (why was it called 'Broadway' anyway? Did men used to go there to pick up, well, broads?), and her brothers and sisters would gloat at the fact that she'd fallen so far from grace. Dad would probably give her a sermon, and Mom would criticize everything they said and did, and it would just be a fiasco. This was going to be just horrible.

Katie and Marie disappeared downstairs to meet their respective parents, but Emma didn't move. Dumbledore watched her carefully.

"Miss Wilkes, are you all right?"

Emma nodded. She was lying. It didn't matter. She supposedly lied quite a lot anyway, might as well live up to it.

"Are you telling me the truth, Miss Wilkes? Are you really all right?"

Emma hesitated, and then nodded again. There was no point in her changing her story, her telling him that her parents were going to kill her. He wouldn't get it; he wouldn't get it in the least. Yes, she was just fine; well, she would be when her parents left and she was put up to her own devices. She was going to be all right.

"Then you won't mind coming downstairs; your parents should be here any moment."

Actually, she would mind. She would mind very much; but Dumbledore didn't need to know that. So she nodded.

His hand came up and rested on her shoulder. "Miss Wilkes, I understand that you may be worried about your parents' reaction to the wizarding world, but I assure you that you have been cemented into our society. You shall attend school if you wish it, and we will aid you in your education."

Emma didn't dare believe what might be too good to be true. "You swear, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I swear it, Miss Wilkes." A sudden whooshing sound beneath them interrupted the conversation. "I do believe your parents are here, my dear."

Emma scooped up Severus and followed Dumbledore down the stairs to greet her probably very chagrined parents. When they reached the bottom Emma suddenly stuffed Severus into her sweatshirt pocket, stroking him. Bending down, she whispered to him to be still, and if his tiny meow was any indication, he agreed. Ignoring the strange look from Dumbledore, she poked her head into the room where several adults stood about, all chatting amiably.

Mom didn't look to happy with the medium of travel, and Emma couldn't blame her. It took quite a stomach to go on wizarding rides.

"Mom, you okay?"

"Yeah, honey; just let me sit for a minute. The spinning, and the twisting. . . .I don't do well with that sort of thing. Give me a second."

Emma had barely gone two steps more when her dad enveloped her into a bone-crushing hug. 'Okay, this is sort of _not_ what I expected.' It seemed like her parents were genuinely happy to see her alive and well. . . .and it seemed like they didn't begrudge her absence or her new world at all.

"How are you, sweetie?" he asked.

"Good," Emma managed to squeak.

"We've missed you," he said.

"I've been gone for a day and a half," she replied.

"But we didn't get to see your smiling face at the table," Mom interrupted.

'I never smiled anyway; why is this a concern?' She tried to keep the quizzical look out of her eyes. "Oh. Well, I smile a lot here." Would that help? Probably not.

Mom smiled, apparently feeling a bit better. "Good; you have such a sweet smile."

Emma rolled her eyes mentally. 'Yeeeaaah. Okay, whatever.'

Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled at whoever it was. "Who is this?"

'How the hell should I know?' Emma turned and saw Katie standing a foot or two behind her. "That's Katie."

"Nice to meet you," Mom smiled, looking over everybody.

Emma picked up on the hint and gestured. "Brian, Marie, and Professor Dumbledore."

Her parents nodded in turn to each of them, looking pretty much pleased.

"What have you been up to while you've been here?" asked Dad.

Emma's hands immediately flew into her sweatshirt pocket, and Severus purred. "Not much. Just got some school stuff; we were going to get robes today."

"Tell them about Sev," urged Katie.

Mom's attention was piqued. "Who's Sev?"

Emma shot her future classmate a look and said, "I have no idea." It was at least half-true. For all she knew, Katie had met another Severus somewhere else and simply hadn't shared that information.

About an hour or two later they were all standing crowded inside Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Emma was feeling horribly crowded; if she was feeling crowded, she couldn't imagine what Severus would be experiencing.

"You next, dear," Madame Malkin said, gesturing Emma up onto a stool.

Emma hesitated, and then shrugged out of her sweatshirt, being careful not to jostle Severus. She slipped it into Marie's hands.

"Careful," she whispered. "If they see Severus, they'll sort of not be very happy."

Marie nodded. "Well noted."

In the back, Emma was confronted with the sight of a boy standing on a stool, being measured between his thighs for what she guessed would be his slacks. He looked up when she walked in, and his cheeks tinged pink at being seen in such a position.

His eyes were icy-grey and piercing, and his head was covered in a mop of well groomed platinum-blonde hair. He had long fingers, a stern nose, and strong cheekbones.

"What would they want to measure me here for?" he asked, as though he expected her to know the answer.

She shrugged. "Maybe it's to make it fit better."

He wrinkled his nose at her accent. "Who are you?"

Emma barely restrained a snort. "A person."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "What's your surname?"

"Wilkes," she answered promptly. "What's yours?"

"Malfoy."

"Hmm," she mused. "Sounds like a type of metal, mixed with alfalfa."

"Excuse me?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, nothing; I doubt you'd get it."

He looked at her quite dubiously as she stood on the stool, her arms being measured.

"So you're a Wilkes," he prompted.

"Yup."

"You're a half-blood then?"

Emma looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Somehow she doubted he would be thrilled if she said she was Muggleborn.

"Are you?" he asked.

"If you like," she replied slowly. It wasn't exactly a lie. She was half Wilkes, after all. Half Wilkes, half Shaunty; she qualified, didn't she?

"What does that mean?" he demanded.

"You'll know in due course," she replied, suddenly tired of his conversation.

"Well I'm a pureblood," he sniffed.

Emma winced as she remembered what her mother had said about purebred dogs. "So you're inbred?" She immediately wanted to kick herself in the mouth. 'Yeah, because _that_ was the smartest thing you've _ever_ done in your life. Good job, doofus!'

"You think I'm inbred?"

"Did I say that? Woops."

He sniffed again. "You're probably just a mudblood. You wouldn't know the rules of the wizarding world if they hit you smack in the face."

Emma barely held a wince. That was her place in wizarding society then. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned that people were so hostile towards Muggleborns. She made a mental note to hound the old man about it later.

Madame Malkin came back to check on them both. She informed the snooty blonde boy that his measurements were finished and he could step down from the stool. He did, but he didn't leave.

"Are you sure you're eleven?" he asked.

"No," she responded. "I'm ten."

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "No, it's just _my_ age, my birthday; I wouldn't have any idea when it is."

He narrowed his eyes again, and she narrowed hers back.

"You're quite cheeky, aren't you?"

"You sound surprised," she commented. "Do all girls let you talk down at them?"

His eyes widened. "You're a _girl_?" He sounded stunned.

Emma rolled her eyes again. "Well spotted."

"But I thought—"

"You and every other man who sees a woman with short hair wearing jeans and a t-shirt; God forbid I not have a chest to distinguish me yet. I _must_ be a boy."

"But you look—"

"Like a man, I know. Trust me, people mix it up all the time. In all honesty, it's not the fact that they mix it up that bothers me; it's that they don't bother to ask my name before they decide. Now that you know—"

"What is your name?" he interrupted.

"Emma," she answered, her tone prim. "But for goodness sake forget it and leave me alone."

"If you're going to Hogwarts you'll need a friend," he pointed out.

"I'd rather have one that wasn't so convinced of his superiority. Arrogant people make me angry."

Malfoy's eyebrow crooked. "Fine; but when you're sitting alone at your study table, don't come to me asking for a second offer."

"Oh believe me," Emma shot back, "you are the last person I'd ask for anything. Hell, you're probably poorer than Bob Cratchet."

He looked affronted, but she could tell it was more at the thought of being 'poor' than the idea of being as poor as Bob. He was a pureblood, he had said, so he probably wasn't that in to Muggle stories. She took a moment to thank God for Charles Dickens.

"I assure you," he said stonily, "I am far richer than you will ever be."

Emma felt a sneer creep across her face. "If wealth was going to turn me into something like you, I sincerely hope so."

Malfoy's cheeks tinged a darker pink; angrily he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Emma looked back at Madame Malkin. "Sorry about that."

The older woman smiled. "It's not every day a Muggleborn can hold her own against the withering ideas of the Malfoys. You need not apologize."

Emma looked at the direction in which Malfoy had disappeared. Suddenly she didn't feel at all ready to be part of the wizarding world. Would she be able to keep holding her own like that all the time? She hoped so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

She was on a train. For the first time in her life, she was on a train. Oh god, she thought she would die she was so excited. Well, maybe not _die_, exactly, but she was pretty happy about it. Her parents had come to stand with her on the platform, and aside from being completely stunned to see what the wizarding world claimed as their platform, they handled things pretty well.

The mother of an entire clan of red-haired children struck up a conversation with Emma's parents, which Emma appreciated while she tried shoving her trunk into the compartment. She made no headway at all until the red-haired twins helped her, winking in return for her thanks. She watched them walk away towards another boy, this one looking to be about her age, with black hair, glasses, and, she couldn't help noticing, brilliant green eyes.

Mom had hugged and kissed her good-bye multiple times, telling her to be safe, stay out of trouble, write home, and all the other usual stuff mothers did with children who were going away. Dad had pulled her up in another bone-crushing embrace, said he loved her, prayed a blessing (as was his habit), and then saw her up into the cabin. As the train pulled away from the station, Emma waved hard at them, following the example of many of the children who were poking their heads out windows to scream last good-byes. When they disappeared from sight, she pulled herself back in, and began to mill about, trying to find a compartment. It was just her luck to find an empty one, and she very gladly took it, intent on simply entertaining herself with Severus for the rest of the journey.

Five minutes in the compartment door slid open, and Emma looked up to see Marie standing there.

"Hey, mind if I sit with you?" she asked.

Emma shrugged. "If you want."

Marie sighed as she sat down. "It's crazy out there. Five minutes in, I'd have thought they'd be sitting down by now, you know? Does anyone on this train know how to shut up for two seconds?"

Emma shrugged. "I'm hoping I don't run into the blonde boy from Madame Malkin's. I might punch him in the face if I see him."

Marie's eyes widened. "No, don't!" she exclaimed. "Why would you punch him?"

"He's irritating," Emma replied simply.

"He's cute," Marie insisted. "God, did you see his eyes? _So pretty_!"

"So arrogant."

"I think they're pretty."

"I'm starting to think you're delusional."

"I'm not delusional," Marie replied. "I'm a romantic."

Emma snorted. "It's the same thing."

Marie sighed. "You don't understand! He's got those _eyes_. . .!"

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "Is that how he's been seeing out of his head? My god, I thought his eyes were disguised as thumbnails."

Marie rolled hers. "You know what I mean."

Emma laughed again. "Yes, I do, but that doesn't mean I agree. I mean, he wasn't rude to just _me_, was he?"

Marie tilted her head to the side. "He was rude to you? Why?"

Emma was almost caught hesitating, but she shrugged. "Heck if I know." Well, she knew why. "He thought I was a boy," she said, ducking her head and pressing to the cool glass of the window, scratching Severus' head with one hand as he gnawed on the index finger of the other.

"Really?"

Emma looked out of the corner of her eye. "You say that like you thought the same thing."

"No, I didn't," the other girl insisted. "Brian did."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Naturally. What else, right? God forbid I have boobs to distinguish my sex from that of a male."

Marie frowned. "You seem really smart," she suggested.

Emma shrugged. "Not really. Wait until we get to school. You'll see."

At that moment, their compartment door opened. Emma looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the door. In her periphery she could see Marie blush.

"So, you got on all right then did you?" asked the blonde boy. His haughty demeanor hadn't left him.

Emma sighed. "What do you want?"

"The boy shrugged. "You're sitting near the Slytherin compartment, didn't you know?"

Emma shrugged. "I honestly didn't care."

'Slytherin'? Why did that ring a bell? Oh, yes! Hogwarts house; its symbol was that of a snake. One of the four Houses at Hogwarts. It had been mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Didn't you?" the boy was saying. "You should."

Emma spared a look at Marie and rolled her eyes. She turned to the boy, who was beginning to look as if he were going to lecture her on why it was important that she was sitting next to Slytherin's train-car.

"If you're going to annoy us with your incessant chatting," she said, cutting him off cleanly, "do sit down. It'll be that much easier for me to ignore you and your. . ." she paused, looking at the menacing (and very confused) looking faces of Draco Malfoy's—bodyguards. "Well, you and whatever it is you've brought with you. I'd say friends, but they don't look quite human enough to be _your_ friends. Isn't there a certain standard they have to reach?"

Draco's face tinged pink. "They _are_ friends," he snarled. "Good friends, and better than any you've ever made!"

Emma glanced at Marie. "Pardon me," she said, "but I'm not patient enough for this bull." She stood up and pulled out her wand, dropping Severus gently on the seat next to her. "Get out now. I may be new to the whole scene, but I've been studying hard for the past month, and I know quite a few creative curses. Go."

The two baboons behind Draco were staring fixedly at the wand, as though terrified she might actually use it. Draco's steel-grey eyes were flicking from the tip of the wand and back again.

"You're bluffing," he said, but he musn't have sounded as brave as he was trying, because he winced.

Emma grinned. "Am I?"

Draco gulped. "I think you are. You haven't got what it takes to curse an—"

He didn't get the last part of his sentence out, because Emma waved her wand, the words getting lost in Draco's unfinished sentence, and his arms snapped to his sides. He had looked stunned when the spell hit him, and now that he couldn't move it was stuck. Emma looked up at the two great baboons standing in the door-way, now looking terrified.

"Now will you leave?"

They nodded, and tried to leave in such a hurry, they tripped over each other, completely forgetting about Draco Malfoy on the floor. When one finally made it out into the hall, the other dove after him.

"You forgot your little king!" she called.

The boys paled, and then proceeded to drag their friend out of the compartment, apologizing profusely for nearly having forgotten him.

Emma turned to Marie. "Anyway. . ." She sighed and sat back down, holding Severus closely and gently.

The other girl was staring. "What was that?" she gaped.

Emma froze. "What was what?"

"That!" Marie exclaimed, gesturing to where the boys had been standing. "What was that spell? What did you do?"

Emma shrugged. "It seemed easy enough when the book described. 'Petrificus Totalus;' in any case, those other two weren't very bright, I don't think. They should have known that the reverse spell was 'Finite Incantatem'."

Marie shook her head. "Finite works on pretty much anything, my dad says. Of course, he's now working as a tax consultant, but that's not important. Not many kids our age can _do_ the Petrificus Totalus and make it work—properly!"

Emma shrugged. "I didn't think it was really that special. Didn't you read your books?"

Marie rolled her eyes. "Of course I read them! But you don't honestly expect me to be able to perform all the spells, do you?"

Emma felt a little overwhelmed at this information. "Well, I don't know. I mean, it doesn't seem like it'd be that difficult."

Again, Marie gestured at the door. "You're good; you're really good. I mean, for a Muggleborn, you're really, really good."

Emma shook her head. "I doubt it."

"You shouldn't," the other girl replied.

A half-hour later they were joined by Brian and Katie, both also complaining about the abundant noise in the corridor. Emma didn't respond, as she was lost in thought, her face very nearly pressed to the glass. Of course, when Marie began to regale Katie and Brian with the story about Malfoy (whom she had dubbed The-Boy-With-The-Pretty-Eyes), they were just as surprised. Emma shrugged it off, not even bothering to look away from the window. They would tire of the novelty before long. Just in case they didn't, she elected to change into her school robes early.

What felt like hours and hours later the train finally pulled into the station, and its cars began to unload. Emma was forced to leave her dear Severus in a cage she'd bought in Diagon Alley, and very soon found herself mixing in with the rest of the first years, all of whom wore indiscriminant robes identical to her own. They were drawn to the voice of a man who could only be described as a giant. He had wild, wiry black hair which fell into a bushy beard down the front of his chest. His hands were twice as big as Emma's head, and, as she got up close, she could only compare his feet to baby dolphins. Were there giants working at Hogwarts? Would one of her teachers perhaps be a giant? That might be fun! Maybe this fellow himself was a teacher. When he smiled at her she immediately decided he should be.

The journey across the lake to the castle itself was probably one of the least frightening experiences of her life. She shared a boat with Marie, Katie, and Brian, still maintaining silence as the castle came into view.

Having never been to an actual castle, Emma's heart picked up its pace; the whole idea was not only like something out of a fairy-tale, it was real! The windows glowed with warm, welcoming light, the stars blinked in the vast blackness of the sky, outlining Hogwarts beautifully. She looked down, viewing the reflection of the castle in the water, and almost jumped when she saw a single, gigantic eye looking up at her.

Was that. . .? She'd read something in her history book about the Black Lake of Hogwarts being home to a giant squid. Could this be it? She reached down, dipping her hand just below the surface, holding it as though to shake hands. One hard tentacle reached up and wrapped around her hand, as though greeting her. She grinned, and the eye staring up at her seemed to grin too. Then the tentacle loosened its grip, and the creature disappeared. When she sat back up to look about, she noticed the other three looking at her expectantly.

"I think it was the giant squid," she said. "We shook hands—er, tentacles—or hand and tentacle, however you want to say it." She hesitated again. "He smiled at me."

"Squids can't smile," Brian contradicted.

"This one can," she fired back.

They didn't say anything else as they approached the castle, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the sheer size of the doors. Hagrid banged on the doors loudly, and they immediately opened from inside.

They were confronted by a tall, black-haired witch who looked very stern. Emma took in her emerald-green cloak and square glasses and decided that it was best to stay on this woman's good side. The atmosphere around her screamed of magical power, just not the kind of which she wanted to be on the receiving end.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant cheerfully.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she replied. "I will take them from here."

As Hagrid turned to leave, he caught sight of Emma again, as she was standing on the outside of the group. His eyes twinkled and he flashed her a friendly smile which she returned eagerly before Professor McGonagall commanded her attention again by pulling the door wide open.

The entrance hall was so big, Emma decided, she could fit her entire house into it without even trying, and there would probably still be room for more. The walls were covered with torches, the ceiling was too high for Emma to see it properly, and a grand staircase that looked to be made of marble led them to the upper floors.

Professor McGonagall led them across the flagged stone floor and into a small chamber. As soon as they had all squeezed into the room, and Emma, Katie, and Marie had been nicely pushed up against the walls, Professor McGonagall silenced them all with a look and began to speak.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts." At this Emma internally groaned. "You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Emma hesitated, and then proceeded to run her fingers through her hair, trying to get it to look normal.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," the Professor said after a moment. "Please wait quietly."

"Yeah, right," Emma muttered to Marie. "Like that'll actually happen."

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" she heard somebody ask. She looked around, hoping somebody might provide an answer. She saw it had been the black-haired boy from Platform 9 ¾ and he had been speaking to a red-headed boy with freckles and nice smudge of dirt on his nose.

'Gives 'brown-nosing' a whole new meaning, that does,' she thought.

"Some sort of test, I think," the red-head answered. "Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Test? Emma's heart nearly bounded out of her ribs. Test? What sort of test? Would they be required to do magic in front of the school to prove they belonged there? What would they ask them to do? She suddenly had a slightly relieving thought: if worst came to worst she could always put Draco Malfoy into a Body-Bind again. That should be enough to get her through. . . .of course if the teachers didn't take well to hexes, then she'd be a bit screwed. She'd be in a bit of a fix if they asked her to do anything with hats, as she'd never had a very good history with things which landed or came anywhere near her head.

All at once, several people screamed, and Emma froze. She looked up and about and was stunned to see that about twenty ghosts had just appeared through the walls. She knew they were ghosts because they were white and transparent. Of course, she'd never seen ghosts have an argument before, which was what this particular set seemed to be doing. One of them, who seemed to be a fat little monk, was saying, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear friar," another ghost, wearing a ruff and tights, responded, sounding slightly agitated, "haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost—I say, what are you all doing here?"

"New students," said the friar, smiling down at all of them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded, but nobody really said anything.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" he exclaimed excitedly. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," a sharp voice interrupted. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

It was Professor McGonagall. One by one, Emma watched as the ghosts disappeared through the opposite wall.

"Now form a line," Professor McGonagall instructed them, "and follow me."

Emma couldn't help but hesitate, but she got in line behind a boy with dark curly hair and olive skin, forcing any and all fears down into the small jar where she kept everything bottled. She slid in the stopper with just a touch of difficulty, and then took a deep breath, ready now to go forward. They walked through a pair of double doors and out into the Great Hall.

The entire hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were suspended in mid-air, floating over four long tables which seemed to seat the rest of the students. The tables themselves were set with glittering and golden plates and goblets. As she looked about, Emma saw, at the top of the hall another long table which was, by the look of it, where all teachers were supposed to sit. 'Tactical,' she thought. Nothing would escape the notice of a teacher, unless it was one particularly dense one. She looked back out over the Hall and noticed that the ghosts were sitting amongst the young people, and she vaguely wondered what it was like to make physical contact with one of them. Suddenly, entertaining a quick whim, Emma looked up at the ceiling. . .only it wasn't exactly a ceiling. It was a velvety black sky, dotted with stars. 'Of course,' she remembered. 'The Great Hall's ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky.'

The sound of a chair scraping on stone brought Emma's head snapping back into position: Professor McGonagall was placing a stool before the students and staff. On top she placed a dirty, patched, obviously old, and pointed wizard's hat. Emma could barely contain a grin when she thought how annoyed the sight of it would make her grandfather. For a few seconds there was complete silence in the hall, and then—to Emma's minimal surprise—the hat opened its mouth and began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause; Emma didn't move because she wasn't quite sure what to think. She wasn't very smart, so that nixed Ravenclaw; she didn't feel quite right about Hufflepuff, mostly because she wasn't very patient at all, and while she didn't mind hard work (in fact, she'd been raised on it), she wasn't the truest, most loyal person of the bunch. In fact, and she knew it in her soul, there were certain grievances which she would probably never forgive, under any circumstances. The 'daring nerve and chivalry' of Gryffindor appealed to her somewhat, but Emma also knew that cowards tended to have a longer life-span. As for Slytherin cunning? HA! Yeah right! They day she was cunning was the day cows gave birth to puppies and pigs started driving cars. She was starting to wish the hat had mentioned a house meant for lippy children who possessed no sense of self-worth; she'd fit right in with that crowd.

She didn't have much more time to think on this because Professor McGonagall had stepped forward with a long scroll of parchment.

"When I call your name," she said, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." That was that, then. "Abbott, Hannah!"

She went right in to Hufflepuff. Emma wasn't surprised: she looked like a sweet girl.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to join them.

"Bones, Susan!"

'I used to know a 'Susan,'' Emma thought.

She went to Hufflepuff, too.

'Boot, Terry!"

He was in Ravenclaw, which appeared to be the table second from left. He was joined by "Brocklehurst, Mandy" a moment later.

"Brown, Lavender" was the first new Gryffindor of the night, and the table on the far left exploded into violent cheers.

'Naturally,' Emma thought.

"Dubuah, Katherine!"

Emma turned to look at Katie. "Good luck," she whispered. In immediate retrospect it was sort of a stupid thing to say, but still, good luck was always welcome, wasn't it?

Katie sat on the stool a moment, the hat over her eyes, and then the hallway was filled with the sound of: "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table went mad again, and Katie skipped off, quite happy, apparently, with the way things had turned out.

A "Dhanuka, Ida" was also chosen for Gryffindor.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin" went to Hufflepuff.

Emma began to notice that on some of the students the hat took its time deciding, while for others it shouted out the result almost immediately. Was that for certain students with certain personality complexes? She wondered. "Ellicock, Roger" was sorted into Ravenclaw immediately, while "Finnigan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. "Granger, Hermione" was a Gryffindor as well. "Longbottom, Neville" was chosen for Gryffindor as well, although he almost ran off with the hat when it finally called his house.

"Longstride, Brian!"

He went to Hufflepuff. Emma cocked her head to the side. 'Okay,' she thought. 'I can see that. He seems to be the type to work hard enough.'

"Malik, Tariq" went to Hufflepuff, and "McDougal Morag" was next, followed by "Malfoy, Draco," who was immediately placed in Slytherin. He sat with his friends, whom Emma had learnt were "Crabbe, Vincent" and "Goyle, Gregory."

More people went, but Emma barely noticed, as she was rather busy inspecting the teachers' table. She spotted Dumbledore easily enough, and was half-tempted to catch his eye, but decided against it. There was one very small teacher, who looked to be almost a dwarf. Emma wondered who he was, and who the plump woman covered in dirt was who sat next to him.

She whooped when Marie made it into Ravenclaw—'I told you you'd be smart'—and then went back to inspecting the tables. She barely registered "Potter, Harry" making it into Gryffindor, which, for some reason, was a pretty big deal.

A "Ray, Matthew" went into Gryffindor as well, and "Tornai, Jenna" made it into Ravenclaw. "Simmons, Lane" went to Hufflepuff after "Thomas, Dean" was sent to Gryffindor. It was just a few more students now.

"Weasley, Ronald" was sent to Gryffindor, and then all of a sudden she heard: "Wilkes, Emma!"

Emma reacted automatically, walking, but feeling like _crawling_ towards the stool. She turned, sat down on the stool, and watched the house tables disappear from view as the hat slid down over her eyes.

A small voice began whispering in her ear: "Not very confident are we? That's no matter, we'll sort you out in a bit. You're quite strong though, I see; your family's been through a rather tough time, by the look of it. You've not complained. Yes, I think I know the house for you; it's GRYFF—NO!"

Emma heard the whispers around the hall.

"No, that's not quite right," the voice continued.

'Wouldn't it be ironic if I were to go into Slytherin after all my friends made it into the other houses?' she thought.

"It's an idea," the hat replied, "but I'm feeling partial to RAVEN—NO! Still not right! It's a pity, as you aren't exactly stupid are you?"

'I sincerely hope not.'

There were more whispers around the hall.

"You're just a tricky one to place," the hat informed her happily. "Brave and clever, I see. Quite clever when it serves your purpose; there's raw power there, and you seem eager to do well. You're just a regular puzzle, aren't you?"

Then Emma had a brief, albeit rather rash, idea. 'Which house would dislike me the most?'

"I'm sorry?" The hat sounded incredulous.

'Which house would least expect me to do well?'

"Slytherin, as you're a Muggleborn—"

'Then Slytherin it is."

The hat hesitated. "If you're quite sure. . . ."

'Yup,' Emma replied, 'I'm positive.'

"Then it'll have to be SLYTHERIN!"

The house cheered, albeit somewhat uncertainly, and Professor McGonagall took the hat from Emma's head, looking at it somewhat dubiously. She gestured Emma to a table, and the girl obediently walked down the steps to sit at the edge of the table. She'd set herself up for hell, and she knew it. At the moment, however, she was up to the challenge. In any case, if they ended up really, really disliking her, she could always find some very advanced protection charms to put up around her person.


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'd just like everyone to know that, aside from those people of whom you've never heard, everything belongs to Joanne Rowling.  
I borrowed some phrases from the books, as it was-is-necessary. If you find the Daring Orkney Running Kilter to be different, that's good. It adds some spark to Ravenclaw that I don't think was there.  
You might also realize that some people end their sentences in prepositions. This happens before Emma develops the incessant need to murder those who can't use proper grammar. She begs your indulgence, as it is something she learns in second year and will thenceforth immediately fix.  
Thank you, and enjoy the show. **_

**Chapter 6**

Emma had never had so much food in her life. She didn't think she'd ever seen this much food either. There was ridiculous amounts, and she was keen on most of it: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, something that she had once seen her mother describe as Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and a very different-looking candy that she heard one Slytherin call a 'peppermint humbug'.

Emma hesitated, not too interested in eating even though she hadn't had hardly anything at all in twelve hours. She was feeling slightly nervous and she was still enraptured with the ceiling. She hadn't had a chance to really stop and stare at the stars in a long while, and right now the black sky and twinkling lights were much more interesting than the juicy meat and tender vegetables sitting before her.

Somebody nudged her from under the table, and she looked down.

"Where you from?"

She blinked. The young man speaking to her looked something like the pictures of trolls she had seen in her history book. He had dark hair, a hard expression, and a bulky, athletic build. He was watching Emma expectantly.

"Michigan," she managed. He was twice her size, and he had very harsh eyes.

He tilted his head to the side. "You're from America?"

"Well, technically speaking, yes," she said. "But America can be a pretty broad description of a location, it being a continent and all. For instance, I could be from Brazil, but say I came from America, and still be telling the truth; I simply wouldn't have specified whether it was North or South America."

He gave her a hard look, and then grinned. "You're a smarty, aren't you?"

Emma wasn't quite sure whether or not this was a compliment, so she just looked at him, her face stoic. He didn't seem to mind. In fact he was more interested in why she wasn't eating.

"It's all good food, you know."

Emma nodded. "I'm sure. I just haven't seen the stars in such a long time."

The boy was quiet a moment longer, and then asked: "What's your name?"

"Emma Wilkes."

He looked at her sharply. "If you weren't American I'd think you were related to the Death Eater Wilkes."

Emma tilted her head to the side. This information didn't faze her. She'd spent a month in Diagon Alley, and she'd read as many books as she could get her hands on, thus finding information about the Death Eaters and the infamous Lord Voldemort.

"I can understand that," she said. "And maybe, if you trace the line back far enough, you can find us linked somehow. My dad does have English roots." She looked keenly at the boy. "Who are you?"

He smirked. "Marcus Flint, sixth year. I'm Quidditch captain for Slytherin."

Emma leaned forward. "Could you explain it? I know it's a sport, but I don't know the rules."

Marcus Flint spent the next ten minutes explaining the rules of Quidditch in detail, as well as tipping Emma off as to various methods of bending the rules and circumventing them without getting caught and penalized.

'He's not very bright, that much is obvious,' Emma thought. 'Still, if I can get him to like me enough, he might work as my own personal Crabbe or Goyle. Pity there're only seven years at Hogwarts.'

"So what's your blood?" he asked.

Emma hesitated. "Welsh, Irish, and English."

Flint laughed. "No, no. Your blood-status. Are you pureblood or half-blood?"

Emma hesitated again. 'Pity. I did sort of like him.' And then she said, "Well, neither."

Flint laughed. "What do you mean neither? What are you, three-quarters?"

'He really isn't very bright.' Emma shook her head. "No. I'm Muggleborn."

Flint laughed uproariously. "That's a good joke!" he said.

Emma simply gave him a look that clearly said she wasn't joking.

The mirth left his face, and he looked at her keenly. "You really are?"

Emma nodded.

"But that's impossible!"

Emma shrugged. "Why?"

"Because you're in Slytherin, that's why!" he protested. "Muggleborns don't come to Slytherin!"

Emma shrugged again. "Apparently at least one does."

Flint sat back, obviously miffed. "You do realize then, that you'll not be completely welcome here."

Emma shrugged. "I doubt you can do anything to me that hasn't been done already."

Flint's eyes glimmered. "You should watch your back, mudblood. Slytherin isn't friendly like Gryffindor, and you've still got seven years to go."

Emma couldn't help but grin. "I look forward to the challenge," she said, lifting her glass as though in toast of him.

When everyone had eaten all they could the food disappeared from the plates, only to be replaced by the most wonderful deserts: Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding—everything Emma could possibly have imagined. Her stomach churned at the sight, and she looked determinedly up at the ceiling, intent on not seeing any more food.

The stars seemed to be shining even more brightly than before, and Emma thought it was lovely. Excited conversations hummed around her, but she didn't hear them. She was busy looking about, memorizing the Great Hall. Flint nudged her under the table again.

"Yes?"

"How did you manage it?" he asked, his voice low. A bit of trifle was on his plate, but he didn't look too keen on eating it at the moment.

"How did I manage what?"

"Slytherin!" he hissed. "How did you manage it? What did the hat say? It wanted to put you in Gryffindor at first, I heard it."

Emma nodded. "It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, too, but it didn't. It wasn't quite sure what to do with me, so I told it to put me in the house where I would be least welcome."

Flint's mouth dropped open again. "You _asked_? Are you mad?"

Emma thought, and then held up her thumb and index finger, both a miniscule distance apart.

Flint rolled his eyes. "This isn't something to joke about, Wilkes. You're a _mudblood_ in _Slytherin_! Our house founder is probably rolling in his grave!"

Emma shrugged. "Why does it matter?"

Fling growled. "You'll see. Just be careful."

"What are you?" Emma suddenly asked.

He looked at her quizzically for a moment, and then said, "Half-blood. I wasn't the most welcome either until I took up Quidditch. I'm good at it. My house-mates became a slightly more understanding after that."

"Good for you," Emma replied. "So you must be pretty popular in our house."

Flint paused, and then nodded, not quite sure where she was taking this.

"Well," Emma continued, "if that's the case, why are you bothering to warn me to watch my back? Shouldn't you be first in line to shove my head down a toilet, or something?"

Flint sighed, and then nodded. "You're different, though. You're. . .I dunno, you're just different."

Emma laughed. "I don't suppose that would work in my favor."

He shook his head. "Look, just keep your head down, and if anybody asks—"

"—tell them it's none of their business?"

He hesitated, and then nodded.

Emma laughed. "That might work for a while, but secrets always find a way out of their hiding place. Surely you know that?"

Flint cast her a wary eye, and seemed to be about to say something, but was cut off by a voice that shouted: "SHOTGUN!"

"What the hell—"

Emma was cut off mid-sentence at the sight of a spirit floating in the air above her.

The being promptly shouted: "SHOTGUN'S LAP!"

"Who are you?" she asked, somewhat bewildered.

"Raechel," the spirit replied blandly, before exclaiming, "I'M A D.O.R.K!"

"I'm—you're—what?"

"A D.O.R.K.!"

Emma furrowed her brow. "Again—_what_?"

"I am a D.O.R.K.," she repeated. "I'm also a girl spirit cowboy!"

"Why do you call yourself a dork?" Emma asked, partially afraid she might be insulting the spirit cowboy. Speaking of which. . . "Shouldn't it be cow_girl_, not cow_boy_?"

"Firstly," said the spirit, "I call myself a D.O.R.K. because I am a Daring Orkney Running Kilter." She crossed her arms. "And secondly, cow_girl_ is not only cliché and boring, but it also gives off the wrong vibe. I'm a girl spirit cowboy."

Emma thought a moment, and then nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course it makes sense!" Raechel said, and then exclaimed loudly to the five people. "I AM CABOOSE, THE VEHICLE DESTROYER!"

Emma choked on a laugh. "How's that going for you?"

"Great!" the girl cowboy smiled. "I have to go freak out other people now with my RvB AWESOMENESS. Bye!"

And she floated away towards the Ravenclaw table.

"You get used to it," said Flint after a moment.

Just then Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, and the whole hall went quiet.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Emma saw his eyes flash in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"Also, this year we are pleased to welcome several more Americans into our herd. American first years, please stand, so that we may welcome you properly."

Emma froze, and briefly considered not standing up and pretending like she was native, but Dumbledore's gaze lit to her and she found herself to be one of the first ones standing. The applause throughout the hall was polite and well contained. Emma was the first one to sit again. Recognition wasn't very high on her list of tolerability.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Several people laughed, but Emma was not amongst their number. She was looking at Professor Dumbledore keenly, and he must have known she was doing so, because he looked back at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

He was serious; she could tell he was serious.

"And now," he continued, "before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

Looking about the High Table, Emma noticed how fixed the smiles had become, and she let out a laugh.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!"

The school bellowed:

_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now their bare and full of air  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest  
And learn until our brains all rot. _

Emma hadn't sung at all, and she listened in awestruck horror as everybody finished the song at different times, all of it sounding rather chaotic. The red-haired twins she'd seen at Platform 9 ¾ were the last to finish, singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they were finished he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed what Emma was told was a prefect out of the Great Hall. Having not eaten much Emma didn't feel nearly as tired out as many of the other students, and she had no problem cataloging where they were going.

It looked as though they were being taken down into the bowels of the castle, and it was only after she felt the temperature drop significantly that she realized they were in what might be called the dungeons. She listened tentatively as the prefect gave the password (_Devious_), and then followed obediently. She didn't remark on the fact that the common room seemed to be a bare stretch of stone wall. It was probably made that way as a means of protection—or paranoia. Either way, it was clever.

They all crowded inside, and Emma was struck by the coldness of it all.

"This is the Slytherin common room," said the prefect importantly. "The boys' bedrooms are upstairs and down on the right, and girls, the same on your left. You needn't worry for your belongings, as they were brought ahead of time. Any questions? Good; now go to bed."

Emma spared a last look around the common room. It was a long, low, underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece, and there were several other Slytherin students already there, sitting in the high-backed chairs around the fire.

The prefect caught her looking about and gave her a light push towards the girls' dormitories. "Go on," he said. "Get to bed."

Emma nodded, and turned, but no sooner had her foot touched the bottom stair than the wall slid open again, and the a voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Where is Miss Wilkes, Cavendish?" The voice was silky and dangerous. Emma had a feeling it belonged to whichever teacher was in charge of the dungeons. She turned, slowly, looking towards the man.

He had a hooked nose, greasy black hair, and sallow skin. Sharp, almost majestic features contoured his face, and his eyes were black tunnels, almost lifeless.

The prefect, apparently Cavendish, pointed at Emma.

The teacher gave her a brief look before turning back round, heading toward the entrance. "Come with me, Miss Wilkes. Immediately."

Emma knew not to hesitate, and walked after the teacher as firmly as the lead in her stomach would allow. Once they were outside in the corridor the teacher's strides lengthened, and Emma had to jog to keep up. They travelled all the way from the dungeons, up several flights of stairs, through several walls and tapestries, up through multiple corridors, past the Great Hall and the Entrance Hall and up another flight of stairs all the way to a stone gargoyle.

The great, dark teacher immediately muttered, "Chocoballs," to the gargoyle. The gargoyle in question suddenly sprang to life and jumped to the side as the wall split in two behind it. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upwards; Emma immediately thought of an escalator. The teacher firmly took her arm and ushered her onto a step. They went higher and higher in circles, and Emma took to looking as far as she could to the ceiling to keep from getting dizzy. They finally reached the top, where Emma saw an oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

Instinct told her that this was the door to Dumbledore's quarters, and she froze, her mind quickly working.

The teacher behind her must have been able to read her mind, because almost immediately he said, "You aren't in trouble, Miss Wilkes. The Headmaster simply wishes to discuss something very important with you."

He reached up and knocked on the door, which opened silently to admit them entrance.

The room which they entered was nothing like Emma had ever seen. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom appeared to be snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and on the shelf behind it was perched the Sorting Hat. A trill to her right alerted her to the sight of the most beautiful red bird she had ever seen.

Emma wasn't quite sure what it was, only that it was beautiful, and appeared to have some incredible knowledge which it looked as though it wished to share. It was eyeing her keenly, and Emma had the strange urge to hide behind the towering figure of the teacher next to her.

A door opened suddenly, and Emma and the teacher looked up.

"Oh good, Severus, you brought her."

Severus? Severus was the name. . .of her kitten. Oh hell. Dumbledore knew it, too! That was why he'd been smiling the way he had! This was not good. This was not good at all.

"Miss Wilkes, as I doubt he has introduced himself to you, this is your Head of House, Professor Snape." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled a little more than necessary. "No doubt his name seems a bit familiar to you?"

Emma gulped. "I'll take care of that first thing, sir."

Professor Snape looked between them, clearly confused.

Dumbledore laughed. "Miss Wilkes, Severus, has a cat which she christened in honor of the Roman emperor with whom you share your name."

Professor Snape looked back at Emma.

"In my defense," she said, "I was unaware of what it implied."

Professor Snape snorted, but it seemed to be more in amusement than in disbelief. "I'll pretend to be honored," he said. "Now then, Headmaster, what's this all about?"

Dumbledore sighed, and Emma couldn't help but notice that the twinkle in his eye dimmed considerably.

"You know as well as I, Severus, that Slytherins have the ability to sniff out a person's blood-status faster than any living soul on the planet."

Professor Snape hummed his agreement, looking keenly at the Headmaster.

"Miss Wilkes, Severus, is a Muggleborn." He said it simply, like it was yesterday's news.

Professor Snape turned to stare at her, apparently stunned, although his eyes betrayed the emotion more than did his face. "Muggleborn?" he repeated. "How did you get placed into Slytherin?"

Emma hesitated. "I—er—told the hat to put me there."

"You _told_ the hat to put you in _Slytherin_?" he clarified.

"Yeah," she said. "Should I not have?"

Professor Snape and Dumbledore both exchanged glances.

"Miss Wilkes, Muggleborns—"

"Don't fit in with the Slytherins," Emma finished. "Yes; I gathered as much from what Marcus Flint said at the table."

"Marcus Flint knows?" repeated Snape. "It's bound to be around the common room in no time then, Headmaster, possibly even the school."

Dumbledore nodded. "I don't think the Sorting Hat would have much luck putting her into a different house." He turned to the Sorting Hat and waved his wand. "Would you?"

The Sorting Hat grunted. "I wouldn't. Enough potential to go any which way, Headmaster; the girl needed to choose for herself. And she did ask for the house least likely to welcome her with open arms."

Professor Snape and Dumbledore both turned to her. "What?" they chorused.

Emma hesitated. "Er—well, you see—I, uh—well, I don't know. I went with my gut."

"Your gut?" they chorused again.

"Well, it just seemed like a better match. I mean, the people I talked to, who got into Slytherin, were really nasty, and my mom is always telling me not to be so mean and nasty and caustic, and to be nice—and it's not that I haven't tried, it's just that—well, it's like putting a fish in water and telling it not to swim! And I've found that I usually get more done when people leave me alone and I ignore them, and I figured the people who wanted me least would pay me the least mind, and I'd be able to work and get more done. . .that, and if they take active action, I can always practice the protection charms from the spell-books."

Dumbledore and Snape shared a look, and then looked back at her.

"Miss Wilkes, they will not befriend you," said Professor Snape. "You are Muggleborn, and in their, until now, untainted house. They will attempt to make you fail on every front."

Emma inclined her head to the right. "There'll always be plenty of people rooting for me to fail, Professor," she said. "That's what makes it such fun."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I don't understand what you find so attractive."

"It's his _eyes_! He has beautiful eyes!"

"They are soulless."

"They're beautiful."

"You're insane."

"Have you _looked_ at his eyes?"

"Yes, I have. They are soulless."

Emma and Marie had been arguing like this since breakfast had started. Marie was trying to convince her that Draco's eyes were only one of his many attractive features, and Emma was convinced that Marie was nuts. The Draco Malfoy she had talked to was arrogant, conceited, rich, and should be shot by a firing squad.

They continued arguing for several minutes before noticing somebody sitting in front of them, looking between them with an unreadable expression.

She looked like a first year, but Emma was positive she hadn't come in on the train last night. The girl had light brown hair, a stoic face, and grey eyes.

She seemed to consider what to say, and then decided to simply go with one word: "Why?"

Marie and Emma looked at each other, and then back at the girl.

"I have no idea," Emma replied.

"He has beautiful eyes," Marie said, her words muffled as she took a bite of toast. "Don't hate me because I notice cute guys."

Emma snorted. "Don't call a spade a flower just because it looks pretty."

Marie gave her a very confused look. "What?"

Emma shrugged. "I dunno. My mom used to say it about her brother. He's really nice, and I think he deals drugs." She turned to the other girl. "Who are you? You weren't on the train."

"Colleen Murphy. I got in late last night because this idiot," she inclined her head to a boy a foot or so away, "kept trying to go through the wrong barrier." \

"Hey!" he shot back, "I was confused!"

"Because it wasn't at all clear when the teacher said, '_Between Platforms 9 and 10_,'" Colleen sniped.

The boy shifted in his seat, and looked away, huffing. Emma looked back at Colleen.

"Who's he?"

"Bond Isheim," she answered. "We had another girl with us, Valerie Lindquist. She's in Gryffindor. What's your name?"

"I'm Emma Wilkes, and she's Marie O'Riley." Emma motioned to Bond. "How'd he get into Ravenclaw?"

Colleen shook her head. "I have no clue. I think he's more Hufflepuff than anything."

Marie snorted. "I'll laugh if he got in because his favorite color's blue."

Colleen and Emma shared a look, and then turned their heads to examine Bond Isheim.

"It's possible," Colleen mused.

Emma watched the boy warily. "That's just dumb. If it's true, somebody should beat him, preferably with a book."

Emma shrugged. "I suppose I should get back to my table; for not liking Muggleborns, they really are possessive. Or maybe they're just paranoid; who knows? See ya, guys."

She had barely made it into her seat when somebody tapped her shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, turning around. She froze. Professor Snape was looking down at her, left eyebrow crooked. "Uh. . . .hi—s-sir. Sorry." Professor Snape simply dropped her schedule down in front of her and stalked to the next student.

Several other Slytherins snickered around her, and Emma kicked herself. 'Good job, schmuck. Really good job; can't believe you.'

She glanced down at the schedule and couldn't help but be relieved at the fact that Potions was on Friday and not any time sooner. She might die of embarrassment anyway. First class: History of Magic.

'Huh.' She'd read through most, if not all, of the history book, and it all seemed rather basic. Then she had Herbology.

Herbology. That entailed plants. Emma wasn't good with plants. She usually got them killed. Would that count against her grade? She hoped not.

Tuesday she had Charms and then Herbology again.

Wednesday she had Defense Against the Dark Arts and Herbology yet again, and then at night she had—Astronomy! That might be fun.

Thursday was Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures.

Friday was Potions and then a free period.

'This would all be easy if a) it wasn't magic, and b) it wasn't in two hour blocks. I can handle half-hour blocks, but two-hour blocks? I might as well just shoot myself now.'

She rubbed her eyes and looked up at the clock. It was nearly time for her first class, so she stood and made her way across the hall.

Outside the doors of the Great Hall, she walked smack into a very sturdy body. She stumbled back and looked up at the obstruction. The face of Marcus Flint looked down at her.

"Wotcher, Wilkes," he said. "Where are you going?"

She held up her schedule. "History of Magic. Where exactly is it?"

To her great and utter surprise, Flint turned and began walking down the hall. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder, and she hastened to catch up to him.

Down a hallway, through a tapestry of a sleeping knight, down another hallway, through a door, turn left, through a second tapestry of a drunken mule, and down another hallway to the last door on the left. Flint turned to her when he stopped, and Emma looked at him, slightly bewildered.

"Do I have to do that every day?"

"Yup."

"In ten minutes?"

"Yup."

She hesitated. "How do I find Herbology? Is it outside somewhere?"

"I'll collect you and take you down to the greenhouse after lunch. Don't worry, you'll figure it out in time."

There was another pause, and then Emma said, "Why are you being so nice?"

Flint briefly smirked, and then replied, "Lots of people persecute Slytherins under the illusion that we're all cold-hearted bastards. We're not; we look out for our own." He dropped his voice. "You're Muggleborn, yes, but you're Slytherin. It's sort of a house requirement. See you later." And he disappeared back the way they had come.

By the time their conversation had ended at least a score more first years were outside the door to History of Magic, and they were all chattering animatedly. Emma leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, calming her sudden onslaught of nerves. To her utter chagrin she saw the smug face of one Draco Malfoy sauntering towards her.

"What do you want?" she snapped when he opened his mouth.

He gave her an offended look, and answered, "I came to ask if the rumors were true."

Emma's brow furrowed on second nature, though she already knew what the rumors must be. 'Lie through your teeth,' she thought. "What rumors?"

Malfoy smirked. "The rumors that you're a—a—a _mudblood_."

Emma let her left eyebrow twitch, as was its wont when she heard outrageous things. "Where did you hear that?"

"Cavendish," he shrugged.

Emma nodded once in understanding. "You can inform Cavendish that he ought not to speak if he doesn't know what he's talking about."

Malfoy opened his mouth again to say something, but the door to History of Magic opened just then, and they all went in.

Twenty minutes later, Emma had effectively tuned out Professor Binns, or 'the Shuf' as she had heard some fifth years call him last night. Her nose was buried into her notebook and she was scribbling like mad. Some story was taking shape, but she wasn't entirely sure what it was, seeing that her mind kept going off into different sectors of the universe and she was just writing down whatever the hell she was thinking. Honestly, everything Binns was saying she could very easily find in her history book or in the library.

When the bell finally rang, Emma shot out of her seat and streaked out the door. She walked into somebody and looked up quite angrily at a very dazed Pansy Parkinson, who looked like she'd just awoken from a nap.

"I never thought it possible to make history that boring, but he's done it!" she yelped, her words meant for no one in particular.

Pansy blinked. "I think I fell asleep."

Emma growled. "I don't blame you. It's offensive what he's done to history."

The pureblood looked over at Emma, suddenly aware of who it was she was talking to. She sniffed and looked about for somewhere she could saunter off to, but not finding anywhere, as she didn't quite know the castle yet, she deigned not to talk to Emma. Emma, for her part, couldn't have cared less. She was already making her way down the hall, trying to remember the way she'd come with Flint.

'If he wasn't already a ghost, I'd kill him! He's ruined history!'

"Hey!" somebody shouted behind her. She turned around, saw one of the boys from last night, Blaise Zabini, coming toward her quickly.

"You talkin' to me?" she asked.

"No, I'm talking to the wall," he snapped.

"Have fun with that then," Emma retorted, turning away.

"Wilkes!"

"Yes?" She turned back to face him.

"How do we get to the greenhouses?" He seemed to be completely put out at having to ask her.

She looked at him, slightly irritated. "You're really asking me that?"

He looked around and then back to her. "Am I speaking to somebody else?"

She growled. "It wasn't an actual question, numbnuts. I was merely commenting on your apparent stupidity; asking a fellow _first year_ where the greenhouses are is like asking a blind man to lead you through a road with potholes."

He looked at her confused. "What?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Never mind. I don't know where the greenhouses are. I'm about to go find out myself, so I'll probably get lost."

Emma turned around, planning to ignor Zabini and simply find her way on her own. For a moment she was alone, and then Zabini suddenly fell into step beside her. She gave him a wary look.

"You'll need an alibi, won't you?" he prompted.

She shrugged. "I suppose so."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 10**

Dumbledore hadn't been joking, Emma realized, when he'd said her study with Professor Snape would be extensive and exhaustive. They met every other night and went at it for so long and so hard, Emma was stunned that she was managing to get through her essays and homework at all.

The focus was protective charms, and for that she was glad. More and more Slytherins were attempting to accost her in the halls, and for a good two weeks there was nothing but constantly peering over her shoulder to make sure someone hadn't pointed their wand at her back. Somebody was always sending a hex her way, be it very discreetly at the dining table, or in the common room. Pansy Parkinson even made the mistake of trying to hex Emma in class. The teacher didn't catch her, Emma did. When Parkinson was carried up to the hospital wing covered in massive boils that sparked every few seconds Emma almost felt bad for her. Almost.

Professor Snape taught her how to put protective charms around her bed and possessions, even Severus the kitten. Then he taught her a very basic form of ward-casting, which she didn't understand at all but was somehow able to execute satisfactorily. In any case, the professor said, he just wanted to see if she could do it.

"Is it normal for people my age to be able to cast wards, sir?"

He snorted. "Is it normal for people your age to put craters in castle floors, Miss Wilkes?"

"I see your point."

As it happened, what with tutoring, homework, and classes, there wasn't very much time available to Emma to do as she might have pleased, nor was there enough to see the three friends she'd met in the weeks before school. She often saw the Ravenclaws in the Library, and Katie was often at the same table, the two of them scribbling down answers to homework, but leisure time was almost never available.

The hole in the boys' lavatory was eventually replaced, but the bright hot pink color didn't go away so quickly. Emma combed the library for information on what spell might have done such damage, but the most she could conclude was that it was something only to be found in the Restricted Section, and she knew there was no way she was going to get a teacher to giver her a not that might let her in there. She briefly considered asking Binns, but Flint warned her that students never asked Binns' permission to do anything, and asking him for a Restricted Section permit might set off an alarum bell.

She'd known there would be more to magic than simply waving a wand and saying some funny words. The load of schoolwork piled on top of her, however, seemed to be a bit much, and she would have cracked but for the thought of going home again. She didn't want to go home. She _needed_ to stay at Hogwarts, no matter what.

As time went most of Slytherin House seemed to lay off just a bit, but Emma didn't let her guard down; no wards were cancelled, and all protective charms were reinforced between classes and whenever she had the time. She did occasionally have to run from some of the lower year students, and on one occasion ploughed over a Gryffindor first year in her hurry to get away. The boy had black hair, round glasses, and shining green eyes. Emma had noticed some sort of blemish on his forehead, but paid it no mind; she valued her hide more than she did his features.

It wasn't much later when she learned that the boy she'd knocked over was Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Seeker on their Quidditch team, and he was actually quite famous for defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort as a baby; in Emma's opinion it was just luck, as she _had_ seen him in classes, and he wasn't exactly a bright and shining pupil. She had to admit it, he'd done wonderfully standing up for Neville Longbottom when Malfoy had taken the Remembrall during flying lessons; Emma had been debating whether or not to make short work of the blonde boy with a blasting curse – Potter's way was much more ethical and had achieved him a good bit of fame. He could have it.

Defense, in Emma's opinion, was a bit of a joke; Snape was the better teacher bar-none, and she didn't understand why Dumbledore would even _consider_ appointing Quirrell to the job. He seemed to talk to himself an awful lot; granted, Emma indulged in the same habit, but. . . .something was off about him; she just wasn't sure what. What sealed the deal for her happened on Halloween.

They were all at the feast when it happened. Emma had snuck over to the Gryffindor table and was having a lively chat with Ida about what sorts of Transfiguration they'd like to perform some of the Slytherins if they could manage that kind of magic yet. She briefly wondered where on earth Qurirell might be, and vaguely heard somebody say that Hermione Granger – whom she had seen in class and had to admit was brilliant – was in the girls' bathroom crying, presumably from some insult the Weasley boy in their year had let slip in her direction. Emma was about to reply to some other Gryffindor's query about sitting at their table when Professor Quirrell had suddenly come pelting into the Great Hall, run up to Dumbledore's chair and informed him there was a troll in the dungeons.

The entire hall fell into an uproar; Emma felt herself frown. Why had he been in the dungeons anyway? His offices and classroom weren't anywhere near there. Sever purple fireworks exploded from the tip of Professor Dumbledore's wand before everyone quieted down, and Emma noted that he seemed to be regarding the faint form of Quirrell with nothing even remotely resembling concern.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Emma looked back to Ida. "Our dormitories are _in_ the dungeons," she said.

Ida's eyes went wide. "I'd invite you to our common room – "

" – we aren't allowed in each other's dorms," Emma said darkly.

"You guys are so screwed," Ida said.

"I know."

Emma got up and dutifully followed her prefects in the general direction of their dormitories, dimly registering the chatter about who on earth might have let a troll in, and the suggestions that it might have been Peeves' idea of a Halloween prank. Emma disagreed, and so did a few others. Peeves might have been good for nothing, but he wouldn't risk Dumbledore's fury like this. Emma slowed her pace until she was at the very back of the group, and finally separated from it altogether. How _had_ it gotten in?

Any troll, no matter stupid, was going to leave the dungeon at some point. Emma wandered in the general area of the girls' bathroom, remembering the girl who'd said Granger was still there. She wouldn't know about the troll. The chances it would wander directly into the girls' bathroom weren't extremely high, but there was still a chance, and the least Emma could do was warn the girl. Why was she crying in the bathroom anyway? A bedroom was one thing; the bathroom?

Emma slipped inside the door and listened carefully. Someone was sniffling in a stall. "Hey," she whispered. "Are you Granger?"

The door opened and the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl poked her head out. "Who are you?"

"Emma Wilkes. It's just that somebody let a troll loose, and it's wandering about the castle, and Professor Dumbledore recommended we all go back to our dormitories."

Granger had seen the House crest on Emma's robes and frowned. "But your dormitories are _in_ the dungeons."

"I know." The information about a troll didn't seem to have much of an effect on Granger; she still looked quite miserable. "Are you okay?"

Granger nodded anyway. "Yeah. I'm fine." She seemed suddenly wary. "Why are _you_ helping me?"

Emma felt this was a rather stupid question. "Because there's a troll. Wandering around the castle. And you need to go to your dormitory; didn't we already have this conversation?"

"You're a Slytherin."

"Duly noted. You're a Gryffindor blubbing in a bathroom. Do you want to take a chance the troll will find you or not?"

"Slytherins hate Gryffindors," she said. "And in any case, I'm Muggle-born."

Emma frowned. "_That's_ your case against me?"

Granger didn't say anything else. She was staring in horror at a spot above Emma's head. Under normal conditions Emma would have asked what was wrong, but the stench of a public bathroom and dirty socks suddenly filled her nostrils, and she turned around slowly, grimacing. It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long. Emma backed away slowly as the troll entered the room.

'Not exactly how I planned on dying,' Emma thought, 'but it'll do.'

The door behind the troll suddenly banged shut, the lock clicked, and there was the sound of pounding feet running the other way. The blood drained from Emma's face, and Granger let out a high, petrified scream. The troll bellowed and took a swing; the girls dived in opposite directions, Emma sliding under the stalls, and Granger shrinking against a wall, looking ready to faint. The troll was knocking sinks off the walls as it went, and Emma, completely unsure of what to do, seized the nearest tap, and threw it at the troll's head. It had no effect.

Two boys suddenly pelted into the bathroom, the black-haired one she'd knocked over on accident, Harry Potter, and the Weasley boy who seemed to be everywhere with him. "Confuse it," the black-haired one said desperately, and he threw a tap as hard as he could against the wall. The troll turned around, blinking stupidly to see what had made the noise. It was making for the Potter boy when Weasley threw a metal pipe at its shoulder shouting, "Oy, pea-brain!"

Emma made for Granger, trying to haul her away from the wall. "Come on, we've gotta run!" The girl wasn't moving; she was stuck to the wall, mouth open in terror. The echoing din was driving the troll mad; it made for Weasley, who had no means of escape. The Potter boy then did something very stupid: He took a great running jump, latched his arms around the troll's neck, and stuck his wand up its nose. It howled in pain, waving its arms and club about wildly. Granger sank to the floor, terrified. Weasley pulled out his wand the same time Emma did; but while he was busy levitating the troll's club, which was brilliant, Emma was singeing the creature's feet, and pulling Potter off its back. They couldn't tell if you threw pipes at them, but even they could tell if they'd just been lit on fire – she hoped.

"Let go!" she yelped as the troll howled again. "If he falls back you'll be crushed!"

The club suddenly crashed down onto its owner's head with a sickening crack; the monster swayed for a bit, and fell on its face just as Potter decided to let go.

The three of them stood there, staring down at the troll, and Emma almost jumped when she heard Granger ask, "Is it – dead?"

"I don't think so," said Potter. "Just knocked out."

He bent down and retrieved his wand, and Emma could hear more feet in the halls. "The teachers will have heard that," she said. When the boys looked at her with sudden suspicion she chose to ignore it. As Potter wiped his wand on the troll's trousers the bathroom door banged open again. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Professor Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. 'If only he _would_ die,' Emma thought. 'We'd get a decent Defense teacher.'

Professor Snape bent down to examine the troll, and Professor McGonagall was looking at the two Gryffindor boys, her lips white with fury. Emma figured that now would not be a good time to make any wise remarks.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitories?" Here she leveled a cold look at Emma.

Professor Snape, after looking swiftly at Potter, was narrowing his eyes as well. A small voice from the shadows spoke up.

"Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

The girl had finally managed to get to her feet. "I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them."

Emma almost dropped her wand; Weasley dropped his. Was she seriously going to lie about _this_?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose, Emma Wilkes burned its feet, and Ron knocked it out with his own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Emma kept a poker face and stared down at the troll. The Granger girl could tell whatever story she wanted; it was her rescue after all.

"Well – in that case. . ." said Professor McGonagall, staring at the four of them. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Granger hung her head, and Emma briefly considered contradicting this story with the real one.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Granger left, head still down.

Professor McGonagall turned to Potter, Weasley, and Emma.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. And five for Slytherin, of course. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Emma was about to duck out of the bathroom, when Snape caught her shoulder. "You will wait by the door," he said fiercely, "and you will _not_ move."

Emma plastered herself to the wall and waited while the three professors dealt with the lumpy grey issue lying knocked out on the bathroom floor. When the troll finally came floated past Emma, levitated by Professor Quirrell and Professor McGonagall, she wrinkled up her nose again. No way would a troll ever be a pleasant experience.

"You'd better see Poppy about your leg, Severus," Professor McGonagall said.

"Duly noted," he replied, and his hand came down on Emma's shoulder. "You will come with me, and you will tell me what the hell you were doing outside Slytherin dormitories."

Emma had to trot to keep up with even a _limping_ Snape. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Snape grunted.

"Our dormitories are in the dungeons. And the troll was in the dungeons. Going to my dormitory just seemed like a really bad idea."

Snape seemed like he wanted to say something, but had to concur. "Why were you in the girls' bathrooms? Thought you'd help Miss Granger?"

Emma hesitated. "Erm, well, you see, about that – "

"I am well aware Miss Granger told a blatant lie, Miss Wilkes."

"Okay," Emma said. That took a load off her shoulders, and she told him everything that had happened, and what she'd been thinking by running off to the girls' bathrooms.

He didn't seem particularly impressed; of course, Professor Snape was never impressed, but Emma was solidly determined that by the time she left school she was going to see that look on his face. Some day. They had reached the hospital wing, and Madame Pomfrey was busily patching Professor Snape's leg, muttering angrily about creatures kept in the castle. Emma frowned. The only creature she'd seen was a troll. . . .

An idea suddenly sprouted in her mind, and she almost didn't register that Professor Snape was standing and pulling her out of the hospital wing.

"Sir?" she said. "What happened to your leg?"

"Never you mind," he growled, hauling her down to the dungeons.

"I-think-Quirrell-let-the-troll-in," Emma blurted.

Snape ground to a halt, looking down at her, black eyes intense. "You what?"

"I mean," she said, "he would only have known that there was a troll if he'd seen it in the dungeons. His classroom isn't near the dungeons, so why was he there, and not up at the teachers' table with everyone else?"

Snape gave Emma a very hard look and said sternly, "Whatever Quirrell has or hasn't done, Miss Wilkes, it is not for you to worry over. You will attend classes, you will adhere to Quirrell's rules, and you will not tell the other students what you have concluded. Do you understand?"

Emma frowned. "Not really, but okay."

Snape didn't seem at all satisfied that she would keep her word until she was in the common room and the door closed behind her.


End file.
